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RURAL RHYMES, 



Talks and Tales of Olden Times, 



BEING A 



Collection of Poems and 01d=Time Stories, 

GRAVE, HUMOROUS, DIDACTIC, SENTIMENTAL, 
AND DESCRIPTIVE, 



WRITTEN AT DIFFERENT TIMES AND UNDER DIFFERENT 
CIRCUMSTANCES, 



IVIARTIN RICB, 



LONE JACK, IVIO. 



THIRD EDITION, ENLARGED AND IMPROVED. 



KANSAS CITY : 

HUDSON-KIMBERLY PUB. CO 

1893. 



2^ w^Cp^ 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year One Thousand Eight 
Hundred and Ninety-three, 

By MARTIN RICE, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 



INDEX. 



[Page. 

BIOGRAPHICAIv 9 

A HOOSIER'S TRAMP 13 

The Old Cabin Home 48 

Talk to the Settlers of Jackson, Clay, Cass, and Platte .... 62 

IS THE WORLD ANY WORSK ? 72 

Talk of the Oneida Indians, Sent by Their Chiefs to the Leg- 
islature OF New York, in 1788 74 

Give Me Liberty, or Give Me Death 79 

THE FALL OF THE OLD MILL 83 

OLD AND NEW FASHIONED SCHOOLS 88 

PERSECUTION FOR OPINION'S SAKE 68 

LAWYERS AND A LAWSUIT OF THE OLD TIME 99 

THE MOTHER'S DYING CHARGE 104 

WHAT I SAW OF ORDER NUMBER ELEVEN 105 

A TALK OF THE OLDEN TIME IN INDEPENDENCE 124 

RUTH AND NAOMI 131 

THE CARRIER-BOY'S ADDRESS 134 

THE JEWISH PILGRIM ; OR, AN AMERICAN JEW IN PALESTINE • 140 

AN OLD SETTLER'S TALK 143 

DE GOOD OLE TIMES IN NORF CARLINER 152 

THE OLD MINISTER'S REMINISCENCES 157 

THE OLD CAPTAIN OF 183S AND THE ROLL-CALL AT PLEASANT 

HILL, MO., IN 1881 , 159 

SMALL CAUSES AND LARGE RESULTS 166 

Liquid Stuff and Its Doings 173 

DAVID'S FLIGHT FROM JERUSALEM AND THE DEATH OF 

ABSALOM 186 

WRITTEN IN A LADY'S ALBUM 196 

A WORLD OF CHANGE IS THIS . . : 197 

DEATH OF A FRIEND IN 1S56 198 

TO A FRIEND 199 

THE SNOW-FLAKE I99 

"VANITY OF VANITIES! ALL IS VANITY!" 201 

PASSING AWAY 201 

WHY SHOULD VAIN MORTALS BE PROUD ? 202 

TWENTY YEARS PAST 204 

I'M SITTING BY YOUR SIDE, MARY 206 

LIFE AND DEATH 207 

IMMORTALITY; OR, ANSWER TO LIFE AND DEATH 208 

I'M STANDING BY YOUR GRAVE, MARY 209 

HOPE DEFERRED 210 



4 INDEX. 

Page. 

FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY 2" 

TO AN ABSENT SON. 212 

WILLIE'S GRAVE 214 

THE SONG OF THE SEA-SHELL 215 

WHISKY, WHISKY— 'TIS A CURSE • 216 

INTEMPERANCE 218 

THE PROBLEM . . 226 

THE FISHERMAN'S LAWSUIT 227 

DORR MORRISON'S RIDE; OR, JOHN GILPIN THE SECOND .... 230 

DOUBLE ACROSTIC 239 

ACROSTIC 240 

ACROSTIC 240 

ACROSTIC 241 

ACROSTIC 241 

ACROSTIC— DOUBLE 242 

PARODY ON A WELL-KNOWN HYMN 242 

THE MOON . . 243 

THE ORPHAN'S LOT 247 

THE CHILD'S DREAM 249 

THE EXILE'S LAMENT 250 

YOU'VE SUNG OF GREENLAND'S MOUNTAINS 252 

ABR.\HAM'S LAMENT 254 

JOSEPH AND HIS BRETHREN. ... 256 

DAVID AND GOLIATH 270 

DAVID'S THREE MIGHTY MEN 287 

DAVID'S LAMENTATION FOR SAUL AND JONATHAN 291 

PREACHING TO THE NINEVITES 293 

THE HORRORS OF CIVIL WAR. . 296 

THE BATTLE OF LONE JACK 301 

SPOTTSYLVANIA'S WILDERNESS . ■ . ; 303 

THE HOMESICK SOLDIER '. 305 

THE BANDIT'S DREAM; OR, THE HILLS OF SNI-A-BAR 306 

THE DYING SOLDIER AT LONE JACK 3" 

THE SOLDIER FROM THE KANSAS LINE 315 

THE FADED BANNER; OR, HOPE-FORLORN 319 

THE WATCHMAN; OR, THE BURDEN OF DUMAH 321 

THE CRUEL WAR IS OVER 323 

THE LONELY TREE • • 325 

THE PRISONER 329 

SCENES OF MY CHILDHOOD 332 

FORTY YE.IRS AGO -NOW AND THEN; OR, THE OLD MAN'S 

RETURN TO THE HOME OF HIS YOUTH 335 

THE OLD-FASHIONED PRE-'VCHER 342 

THE EARLY SETTLERS ' 344 

THE CONTRAST 346 

ADDRESS TO THE GRANGERS 349 

LETTER TO AN EDITOR 351 

THE EXODUS OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-THREE ; OR, ORDER NUMBER 

ELEVEN 356 

OLD-TIME REMINISCENCES 379 



INDEX. 5 

Page. 

the; country school lyceum 390 

sermon by a little girl 392 

to my grandson 394 

anniversary oration 400 

the muse of history 404 

congratulations 408 

a sunday'-school speech 411 

the tramping poet 415 

short sermon by a layman ... 417 

the old meeting-house 420 

uncle sam's botanic garden 427 

geometrical problem 429 

decor.\te their graves 430 

half a century ago 432 

pilate's wife's dream 440 

sleeping yonder "445 

anniversary' meeting 449 

the spider-web problem 454 

semi-centennial poem 456 

evening musings 460 

cutting down the old orchard 465 

the poplar staff ' 468 

the cedar walking-cane • 471 

reading his own poems 472 

regrets and congratulations 474 

sweet, sweet home 476 

a bivouac of the dead 477 

reflections 481 

new y'ear's night thoughts 483 

to my grandson 486 

pictures of memory 488 

farewell to the old meeting-house 492 

semi-centennial address ... 495 

a layman's address 502 

the story of the family oak 506 

TO EMMA 519 



INTR OD UCTION. 

The author of "RuRAiv Rhymeis and Poems prom 
O^he; Farm," in bringing this third edition before the public, 
returns his thanks for the favorable reception of the first 
and second. Those editions, amounting to 3500 copies, 
have, with little effort and no puffing or blowing, been 
sold, and there is still a demand and many calls for those 
simple home ballads of the plain Missouri farmer. 

The present volume, styled "Rurai, Rhymes and 
Tai^ksand Tales of Oi.den Times," in addition to the 
poems and olden-time stories of the sec.ondvolume,contains 
several other poems written in the same easy and simple 
style, said by. some to be the best of the author's writings. 
In reference to those talks and tales, the author desires 
to say that, though some of them are mixed with a little 
of fiction, the main incidents and ideas are substantially 
true, as many of the older citizens" of the localities can 
testify; the object in part being to give an account of the 
manners and customs of the men and women of fifty and 
sixty years ago, and to contrast the old times with the 
present ones. 

Hoping and believing that the new volume will meet 
with even more favor than either of the preceding ones, 
it is presented to an appreciative and generous public by 
the author. 

Martin Rice. 

lyone Jack, May, 1893. 



TO THE READER. 

Far from the city's noisy din, 

P'ar from its bustle and alarm, 
We had our being first within 

The limits of an humble farm ; 
From out its cool, sequestered shade, 

In different ways, at different times, 
We came ; and when together laid. 

Are simply styled the "Rural Rhymes." 

From out a toiling farmer's brain 

We had our birth — no matter when, 
If we can your attention chain, 

And edify the minds of men ; 
And though we may not soar as high 

As Milton's thoughts in former times, 
Oh, let it be no reason why 

You should not read the "Rural Rhymes." 

And though we may not live as did 

Old Homer's verse and Ossian's lays, 
L,et not our simple truths be hid 

By greater names of other days ; 
Though thousand years we may not live, 

As poems have from Eastern climes, 
May we a transient pleasure give 

To those who read the " Rural Rhymes." 

And though not gorgeously arrayed 

In soaring language, full and pure, 
Remember gorgeous colors fade, 

While simpler colors long endure; 
Then may the simple truths we speak 

Fall on the heart with pleasing chimes, 
And often may each reader seek ' 

New beauties in the " Rural Rhymes." 
Yours respectfully, 

M. Rice. 



BIOGRAPHICAL. 

Martin Rice, the author of "Rurai. Rhymes," etc., was 
the oldest of the seven sons and four daughters of Enoch 
and Mary Rice, and had his birth and early training in 
what is now Union County, then a part of Campbell, in 
East Tennessee, thirty miles north of Knoxville, near 
the present I^ost Creek post-office. 

His father, Enoch, being a farmer of small means, poor 
health, and a large family, had hard work to make the 
ends meet, and consequently his boys were (as they ought 
to have been) brought up to labor on the farm. Martin, 
however, born on the 2 2d of November, 1814, was sent 
to school at a very early age, and when six years old was 
pronounced the best reader of his age in all the country. 
But after this, for the want of school facilities or the 
pressing need of labor on the farm or help to his mother 
in the house, his schooling was irregular and somewhat 
neglected, and at the age of fourteen he quit school 
altogether, having attended school, from the age of five to 
fourteen, about thirty months, and at that time he says 
he had never seen the inside of a grammar. The last 
five months of his schooling in 1828 he studied arithmetic, 
and at the end of the term had got so far in "Pike" as 
to geometrical progression. 

But though his schooling ended at the age of fourteen, 
his studies did not. At his request his father bought 
him Murray's English Grammar, and this he studied 
without the aid of a teacher ; for his father, though a fair 
backwoods scholar of that day, had never studied gram- 
mar himself. 

About the same time his taste for writing began to 
manifest itself, and many a Sunday and rainy day, while 
other boys were amusing themselves at play, he spent 
the time in putting his thoughts on paper, both in prose 
and in rhyme. 

In the autumn of 1832 he was employed to teach a 



lO RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

district school for five mouths in Claiborne County, 
Teun., the first ever taught in the district under the first 
free-school law of the State, for which he was promised 
ten dollars per month, one-fourth of which he never 
received, and while teaching this school he paid his board 
by laboring on mornings, evening*, and Saturdays. 

The next summer his father sold his small farm for 
$800, and in the autumn with his family moved to Jack- 
son County, Mo., and in October, 1S33, entered 160 acres 
of Government land near Lrone Jack, a part of the farm 
on which Martin now resides. On this a cabin was soon 
built, and the family moved into it in November of the 
same year, a few days after the great meteoric shower. 

Before coming to Missouri his father had traded for a 
cheap set of surveying instruments and an old treatise on 
that science, thinking they might be of use in the new 
country to which he was moving, and the long even- 
ings of that winter were spent by Martin in studying the 
lessons of that old book, as the days were spent in grub- 
bing hazel and making rails. After assisting in opening 
and fencing a farm and planting a crop, he was hired to 
■a neighboring farmer for two months at ten dollars per 
month, to be paid in the fall with pork. 

After this in the autumn he taught a short term of 
school, the second ever taught in what is now Van Buren 
Township in Jackson County. 

In the summer of 1835 he made a crop with an uncle 
near Independence, sold his crop in the fall, and with the 
money thus obtained (and some borrowed) entered land 
near his father's. On this he worked through the winter 
and sold it in the spring, and then entered land in Cass 
County (then called Van Buren). 

On the 3d day of April, 1836, he was married to Miss 
Mary I^yncli, of I^afayette County, and on the nth of 
the same month moved to his lately purchased home and 
commenced housekeeping, and here 'he resided as a 
farmer until the death of his wife in December, 1855. 
His father having died in 1 851, he sold out in Cass and 
bought the old homestead in 1856, where he still is. 

When he married and settled in Cass, or Van Buren, 
it was a county but recently organized and thinly settled. 
The first general election was held soon after, and he was 



BIOGRAPHICAL. 1 1 

elected count}' surveyor, an office of no profit, which he 
held for three 5'ears. 

Politically, he has generally been in the minority, 
State and count}', and in consequence has not sought or 
held office, adopting the motto of Henry Clay, " Rather 
to be right than in office and ivrongy 

In 1846 he was chosen as justice of the peace and 
served four years, and the title of "Squire" sticks to 
him yet. 

In addition to his occupation as a farmer, he was 
engaged as a nurseryman, propagating fruit trees from 
1849 to 1 88 1. Large numbers of the orchards of Jackson, 
Johnson, Lafayette, and Cass counties were grafted by the 
same hand that wrote the " Rural Rhymks" ; and he has 
often been heard to say that after he is dead and gone 
these orchards will remain to benefit the rising generation. 

During his labors on the farm for so many years he 
has found time to cultivate the mind as well as the soil 
and to pursue his studies, mathematics being his favorite 
one, in which he is said now to surpass many collegiate 
professors. Some things he claims to have discovered in 
mathematics not known before, or at least not laid down 
in the books. 

As has been said, he commenced writing poetry or 
rhyming at the age of fourteen. None of his j^outhful 
effusions have been preserved. From 1850 to 1876 
occasional pieces were published in the county papers 
over the signature of "Phocion" and other noms ae pluvie, 
and in 1877 his "Rural Rhymes and Poems from the 
Farm" was published at the office of Ramsey, Millett & 
Hudson. That edition of 1 500, and another of 2000 pub- 
lished later, have all been disposed of years ago, mostly 
in Jackson and adjoining counties, but many copies have 
found their way to other States, and have been highly 
appreciated there as well as at home. 

Of Mr. Rice's six brothers and four sisters, all younger 
than he, only one brother and one sister are living : Henry 
H. Rice, at Manhattan, Kansas, and Louisa J. Snow, in 
Johnson County, Mo. His oldest brother, David, one 
of the early merchants of Cass Count}^, who died on the 
wajT' to California in 1849, is referred to in his poem 
"Twenty Years Past," and his youngest brother, Pryor, 



12 RURAL RHYMES AND OI.DEN TIMES. 

wlio fell at Corinth in 1863, is supposed to be "The 
Soldier from the ICansas lyine." His mother, who after 
1856 made her home with him, died in March, 1881. 

Of his four sons and five daughters, three of each are 
still living. His oldest son and second daughter died in 
infancy. His oldest daughter, Martha J. Tate, died in 
1869, and her dying charge to her son, who is now a min- 
ister of the gospel at Sarcoxie, Mo., is one of the author's 
poems. His son Isaac L. lives in the southwestern part 
of Cass County, and his son Alvin B. in the northeastern 
corner of the same count}'; his youngest son, Marion, in 
Colorado. His oldest living daughter, Mary, with her hus- 
band, Wm L. Butler, and family, live with him and man- 
age the farm on which his father settled, as has been said, 
in 1833. His daughter Nancy Mitchell lives near Nor- 
wood, in Wright County, Mo., and his youngest, Elvira 
Mitchell, in Montana. 

Martin Rice is emphatically an old-fashioned farmer 
of the old-fashioned school, one who sometimes doubts 
whether the modern way of running things by steam is 
much better than running them in the old-fashioned man- 
ner. He united with the Baptist Church at Pleasant 
Garden, near lyone Jack, in 1841, and afterward trans- 
ferred his membership to the lyone Jack Church of Mis- 
sionary Baptists, of which church he is still a member, 
and the one of longest standing in the body. 

As may be inferred from some of his poems, he was 
during the great civil war a steadfast friend of the Union, 
being then, as ever before, in a minority; but he man- 
aged to keep at home and on good terms with his neigh- 
bors who differed in opinion with him, frequently assist- 
ing and befriending them in their troubles, and being 
assisted and befriended by them in return. 



Pural Pf^ymes ar^d 0'^^^ Times. 

A HO OSIER'S TRAMP. 

Three Days' Travel through Western Missouri i7i. 1836, 
and Three Days over the Same Ground in 1880. 



CHAPTER I. 

In the spring of 1880, having been in poor health 
during the winter, I was advised by my physician to 
spend a few months in travel, as it was thought that this 
would be of more benefit to me than any medical treat- 
ment that I could receive. 

I immediately set about making preparations to 
leave my home on the White River, in Indiana, not as 
yet having fixed upon any particular line of travel, or 
the direction I should take. In looking over some of 
my old papers, with a view to arranging my affairs 
before leaving home, I picked up what appeared to be 
the remnant of an old memorandum book, written in 
pencil, and so worn that I could scarcely decipher the 
writing upon it. I soon saw, hovvever, that it was what 
remained of a diary that I had kept on a trip to the 
western part of Missouri in 1836. 

As I said, there was but a remnant left, and it con- 
tained the incidents only of three days of that journey. 

Those incidents or memoranda were briefly stated, 
and read thus : 

"October i. — Started after late breakfast, bidding our 
fat host good-by and paying fifty cents each. We had no 
road, but were directed in a northwest direction to an 
Indian trail which would lead us direct to Westport. 
Got lost and traveled several miles out of the way; finall)^ 
struck the trail and stopped at noon near the south line 



14 RURAL RHYMEJS AND OLDEN TIMES. 

of Johnson County, at the house of Mr. Norris, and fed 
our horses. About sundown passed a mound, nearly 
round and quite high ; no house in sight. After dark 
lost the road again ; saw a light and found a small cabin 
in the prairie ; could not keep us, but put us in the road 
and sent us a mile further. Stayed with a young couple, 
lately married, living in Van Buren County. 

" October 2. — Paid our bill, fifty cents each, and pro- 
ceeded on our journey, still on the Indian trail, or Shaw- 
nee Trace. Found houses for a few miles, and came 
again into a large prairie; fell in with an old gentleman 
going to the Platte Purchase, and joined company, as he 
said he could pilot us a better waj^ Stopped on the 
Little Blue and had shoes put on horses. Stayed at 
Stayton's, near Independence ; went with the family to 
night meeting, or preaching. 

"October 3. — Paid lodging, seventy-five cents each; 
went on to Independence; met our pilot again; went on 
to Westport ; crossed the Missouri River at Westport 
I^anding. Stopped at night on Bee Creek with a friend 
of our traveling companion, who gave us all a hearty 
welcome." 

More than forty-three years had passed since that 
journey was made and that diary was written, but the 
incidents of those three days were yet fresh in my memory. 
They had impressed themselves at the time more forcibly 
upon my mind than the incidents of any other part of 
the journey, and it may have been for that reason that 
this scrap had been preserved. 

Before I had finished reading, my resolve had been 
taken to go over the same ground again in this my con- 
templated travel. At least, I resolved to proceed on the 
same route to Westport; thence through Kansas, Arkan- 
sas, and perhaps Texas. 

That trip has been made, and I have returned with 
restored health, and have resolved to write a narrative of 
that three days' journey in 1836 and its incidents, and 
also of three days over the same ground in 1880. 

I was then in my j^outli ; now I am old and gray- 
headed, verging on to my three-score and ten years. 
Then the country was new and thinly settled ; now it is 
comparatively old and populous. But to proceed : 



A HOOSIKRS TRAMP. 1 5 

About the last of August, 1836, my friend and neigh- 
.bor, Frank Elmwood, informed me that he was think- 
ing of trying his fortune farther west. We had come from 
Virginia to Indiana, boys together; both had been married 
about eighteen months, and each had a small farm and a 
small family, on the V/hite River. Frank said the Platte 
Purchase, in Missouri, was said to be the garden-spot of the 
world; that it was now open for settlement, and settling 
up fast ; and asked me if I would not cut loose and go 
with him. After thinking and talking over the matter 
for some days, it was decided that we should go and 
look at the country before breaking up where we were. 

Our preparations were soon made, and we set out on 
horseback about the loth of September and proceeded 
leisurely to Vincennes, thence to St. lyouis, and from 
there in a southwest direction to the Kickapoo Prairie, 
in Greene County, where we had some Virginia acquaint- 
ances and some little business to transact. But as this 
sketch is only to treat of three da3's' travel, all else is 
hurriedly passed over. We left the Kickapoo Prairie, as 
well as I recollect, on the 28th of September, passing 
through the counties of Polk, Benton, and Rives (since 
called Henry), and, after passing the little, town of Clin- 
ton, missed our way, and night found us at the house of 
Mr. Clark Davis, on a stream called Big Creek. 

This Mr. Davis was almost a mountain of flesh, 
weighing, as he said, over four hundred pounds, but a 
genial, kind-hearted, and affable man. 

The country we had passed over, after leaving Spring- 
field, was thinl)^ settled, and a part of the way we had 
passed over bridle-paths, or settlement roads. The 
farms and the rude cabins were small, few, and far 
between. Our giant friend, with whom we tarried, 
informed us that a few miles to the north we would 
strike an Indian trail, called the Shawnee Trace, which 
would lead us direct to Westport, on the western line 
of the State and near the Missouri River. This trail, 
he said, was made by the Shawnee Indians in moving 
from the lower Mississippi to their homes on the Kan- 
sas. He pointed out the direction we should go, and we 
set out. In a short time, in crossing a stream on which 
some timber and brush were growing, we got turned 



1 6 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

round while seeking a crossing-place, and, as the day- 
was cloudy, took a wrong direction; and instead of going 
north, we afterwards found ourselves going nearly east. 
Several miles were passed and we realized the fact that 
we were lost on an almost boundless prairie. It was so 
cloudy and smoky that we could not see the sun, nor the 
streams of timbered land, if any such there were to be 
seen. About ten o'clock a solitary horseman was seen 
crossing our course at about right angles. We spurred 
up, in order to meet him, and found that he was follow- 
ing a small trail, or wagon track, through the tall grass; 
and on inquiring for the Shawnee Trace, he said he was a 
stranger there, but that in passing down the day before 
he had passed an old road, or trail, which he supposed 
was it, and that he thought it was only a short distance 
ahead. We turned our course and rode on together, 
through the rank grass. The stranger was a tall, good- 
looking young man, apparently thirty years of age, per- 
haps older ; was quite talkative, and told us that he lived 
in I^afayette County, near Greenton, and seemed desir- 
ous of finding out something of our residence and busi- 
ness in such a waste world. 

My companion, Frank, who had not spoken since first 
inquiring about the road, gave *my horse a cut with his 
switch, as I was about to answer some question that had 
been asked; and the sudden spring of the horse prevented 
an immediate answer. On my looking back, he gave me 
a look and a gesture, which said as plainly as they could 
say, "Be on your guard." I was somewhat surprised, as 
before that he liad been more open with strangers and 
less suspicious than I had been. I took the hint, how- 
ever, and answered the stranger's question by saying 
that we were from the Wabash country, and were visiting 
friends and looking at the country. In a short time we 
came to the old trail, and, taking the left-hand end, we 
parted company with the stranger and rode on. As soon 
as we were out of hearing, Frank, who had been riding 
behind, came to my side, and I asked for an explanation. 
"Didn't 3^ou know him?" said he. "It is that villain 
lyCSter." "What! John C. Lester? " "Yes," said he. "I 
knew him as soon as he opened his mouth to answer my 
question about the road. Where did he .say he lived? " 



A hoosikr's tramp. 17 

"Near Greenton, I think." "Then," said Frank, "he 
will hear from me again, before we get back to the 
Wabash. By the bye, you were quick to take the hint." 
For some time we rode on in silence. Frank seemed, 
as I thought, to be planning some way to avenge himself 
of the wrongs he had received ; and my thoughts by the 
incident were carried back to Virginia, and were brood- 
ing over the scenes of my youth. That Frank had been 
deeply wronged by this man, I knew. By his oily 
speeches and insinuating address he had so played upon 
the credulity of Frank's father as to swindle him out of 
some thousands of dollars ; and, what was worse, had 
seduced a fair young cousin of Frank's, a school-mate of 
mine, and carried her off, no one knew where; we had 
not heard of them since. No wonder, then, that this 
little incident had set us both to thinking. About noon 
we came to a cabin on the road, and stopped to feed our 
horses and get dinner. We were told that Mr. Norris 
lived there, but that none of the family were at home, 
except a boy, who said he had just eaten all that was 
cooked. He, however, fed our horses, and told us it was 
twenty miles to the next house on the road. Our host 
of the night before had told us of this house of Norris's, 
and of the one twenty miles above; to which he said we 
could get before night, and where, he said, we would 
find a jolly, crankj^ old pioneer, by the name of I^angs- 
ton, with a family of boj^s as cranky as himself. Having 
rested our horses, we pursued our journey through the 
lonely prairie, and in a few miles passed a small stream, 
said to be the head of Bear Creek, on which some man had 
hauled together a set of house-logs by the road-side; but 
no other sign of humanity was to be seen. Late in the 
afternoon we came in sight of a high and round-looking 
knoll, or mound, on the prairie, toward which our trail 
led in a direct line ; we could see it from every little rise 
or eminence for miles ; and about sunset it was reached. 
The main travelled road passed round it on the south, 
but the original Indian path had passed directly over it. 
We rode on the direct straight path, up its steep side, to 
its rocky summit, from which an extensive view on all 
sides could be had. For miles, in evjry direction, the 
prairie was spread out before and around it, but no house 
—2— 



1 8 RURAiv rhyme;s and olden timbs. 

was in sight. To the north, at the distance of two miles, 
perhaps, was seen what appeared to be a small corn-field; 
and far to the south were seen two or three smokes, ris- 
ing as if from chimneys; but no other sign of habitation. 
A short council was here held, whether we should 
leave the road and seek a lodging at the farm to the north, 
or proceed on the trail to L/angston's. The latter being 
resolved on, we pushed forward, and just after dark came 
to a stream, on which, so far as we could see, grew a 
large body of woods. Passing through this woods, it was 
quite dark, and after crossing the stream we lost the road 
again, and got into a small lake or swamp, and once out 
of that, into a flat, marshy bottom, where the grass was 
higher than our horses. Here Frank proposed that we 
should stop, and wait till the moon rose; but as that 
would not be till midnight, and as it had cleared up so 
that the stars could be seen, I insisted that we push on 
in a northwest course, and that we might strike the trail 
again or come in sight of the light in lyangston's house, 
which I said could not be very far off. And sure enough, 
in a short time a light was seen, and on approaching it, 
the outlines of a very small cabin, but no other sign 
of improvement. The man who came at our call, in 
answer to the question, where we were, said we were in 
Van Buren County, on the waters of Big Creek and close 
by the Shawnee Trace. In answer to the question, 
whether he could keep us and our horses over night, he 
replied, "I reckon not; we can hardly keep ourselves. 
We've only been here a week or two; have no stable, no 
corn, no meat, no coffee, no nothing; we are new begin- 
ners here in the world; but if you'll go down there and 
get in that trail, you'll find ahouse jeet beyant the branch, 
where I reckon you can stay." On our saying we were 
afraidof getting lost again, he said, " I'll go and put you on 
the road, and you can't miss the way.' Once in the Trace, 
you can't get out, without you kick out.'' He did so, and 
as we were parting Frank asked if the house across the 
branch was the lyangston place. "Yes," was the reply, 
and we were away. We soon crossed the branch, and 
came to a small field of two or three acres, at the farther 
side of which we came in view of another small cabin. 
As we approached it, Frank remarked, "If the old man 



A hoosisr's tramp 19 

and his wife and his six-foot boys are all at home, I fear 
we'll have a crowded house to-night." 

In answer to our halloo, a boyish specimen of human- 
ity came out to the little gate, and when asked if he could 
keep us till morning, answered that if we were not par- 
ticular about our fare, he would try ; and in our circum- 
stances we thought it best not to be too particular. He 
assisted us in putting up our horses in a small stable, 
made of poles, and, throwing some fodder into the 
trough, he told us to go into the house, and he would 
bring some corn from the field for our horses. On our 
saying that we were as hungry as bears and would like 
to have supper, he said, "Go in and talk to the cook." 

Frank preferred to go and assist in feeding the horses, 
while I went in to order supper. On my entrance, I was 
, surprised to see nobody but a bashful-looking girl, fifteen 
or sixteen years old, who set me one of the three chairs 
in the cabin, and bade me be seated. I told her we would 
like to have supper, and while she was busy in making a 
fire in the wide, open fire-place, I took a hasty view of 
the surroundings. The room appeared to be about 
fifteen or sixteen feet square; the floor was of rough 
hewed puncheons, and overhead were half a dozen round 
pole joists, on which was laid a loft of clapboards. There 
were two doors, the shutters of which were also made of 
clapboards. Of furniture, a bed in the northeast corner 
and another in the southeast, placed on rough bedsteads, 
the posts and rails of which had been hewed and dressed 
with a drawing-knife. In one corner, next the fire-place, 
with its rough back and jambs, was the cupboard or 
dresser, made by laying some smooth clapboards on pegs 
driven into auger-holes in the wall. A similar piece of 
furniture, in the back end of the house, between the beds, 
served in place of a bureau, on which the bed-clothing 
and wearing apparel were packed away. A square table, 
three split-bottomed chairs, and what was neither lounge, 
sofa, settee, nor cradle, but a sort of compromise between 
them all — a thick, heav}^ board, or puncheon, dressed off 
and placed on rockers like those of a cradle, with another 
board fastened to uprights, against which the back could 
rest while sitting on the bench and rocking. There was 



20 SURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

also the large cotton wheel and cards, and other neces- 
sary articles of housekeeping. 

In the corner opposite the cupboard was the book- 
case, made as the cupboard was, by laying boards upon 
pegs in the wall. Having a curiosity to see what kind of 
books the cranky old man was in the habit of reading, 
after the girl had lighted an old-fashioned, greasy, cast- 
iron lamp and had stepped out for something, I ap- 
proached the book-stand, and on examination found some 
histories; the "Life of Washington and Marion," by 
Weems; the "Life of Jackson"; some books of travel; 
and amongst the rest, an old treatise on surveying. 
Having hastily come to the conclusion that the old folks 
were away from home, and that the younger children 
were keeping house in their absence, when the young 
woman returned, I ventured to remark: 

"Your father and mother are not at home, I suppose?' • 

With a mischievous smile, she replied: "They were a 
few days ago, and I reckon they are yet." 

"Then you don't live here?" 

"Yes, I stay here; but my parents live twenty miles 
off, oh the Sni, near Greenton." 

"Near Greenton, did you say? are you acquainted in 
that neighborhood?" 

"Yes ; I was raised there." 

"Do you know a man there by the name of Lester?" 

"No, I don't know him; I've heard of him though." 

At this moment we were interrupted by the entrance 
of Frank and the young man, who had been caring for the 
horses. 

Frank appeared as much surprised as I had been, on 
seeing nobody but me and the girl present; and we both 
took a hasty survey of the beardless boy who was acting 
as our host; spare built, with long legs and arms, and 
awkward and gawky-looking in the extreme. Frank at 
once came to the same conclusion that I had done — that 
the old folks were away; and asked the ^^oungster about 
the same questions that I had asked the girl — whether 
the old folks, his parents, were at home. 

He smiled, as the girl had done, and replied: "I spose 
they are; they very seldom leave home. But I know 



A HOOSIER S TRAMP. 21 

what you mean, and must inform you that we are the old 
folks ourselves." 

"I beg pardon," said Frank, "but we were told that an 
old man lived here, Mr. Langston; is that not your name?" 

"Not quite that," said he; "the old man lyangston did 
live here; he setttled the place, but he has moved to the 
Platte, he and all his boj^s ; and as to asking pardon, there 
is no harm done; we are used to it; it's not the first time 
that we've been asked where our daddy and mamma was." 

"What is your age," said I, "and how long have you 
been here?" 

"lam twenty-two and she is sixteen; and we came 
here last April." 

"How long have you been in the State, and from what 
part did you-come?" 

"We are both from Tennessee, near the Cumberland 
Mountains ; I have been in the State three years, and she 
has been here nearly all her life." 

The young housewife here handed her husband a tin 
cup, with some parched coflfeee in it, and asked him to 
beat it. He stepped to the door and brought in his axe, 
which had an old-fashioned pudding-stick handle, sawed 
off square at the end, and seating himself on the rocking - 
bench, with the cup pressed between his feet on the floor, 
commenced beatingwith the end of the axehelve, and soon 
had the coffee pulverized. Meanwhile, the oven with its 
corn-dodgers and the skillet with its fried pork were before 
the fire, and supper was soon served, to which we did am- 
ple justice. 

I must own that we were disappointed; we had ex- 
pected to be entertained with the cranky actions, jokes, 
and tales of the old pioneer; but instead we were being 
taken care of by a boy and girl, who were quite reserved 
in their manners. Our questions were all answered with 
civility and simplicity ; but beyond this, the conversation 
was mostly on our part. 

We learned that his nearest neighbor (excepting the 
one across the branch, who had just moved there) was a 
mile and a half off; that our host had bought the little 
improvement of the old pioneer, and entered the land on 
which it was located; that he had kept "batch" awhile, 
making rails to fence a farm; "and then," said he, "I 



22 RURAL RHYMES AND OLD^N TIMES. 

married and brought this girl here to cook for me." I 
here remarked to Frank that the lady had informed me 
that her parents lived near Greenton. 

"Near Greenton?" said Frank to the young man; "are 
you acquainted there?" 

"Not much," said he; only with a few families." 
"Do you know a man by the name of I^ester?" 
"I saw him once." 

"Then, tell me all you know about him?" 
"Of my own knowledge, I don't know anything. IVe 
heard a good deal. He bought my father-in-law's farm 
some time ago, and they are all living there until my 
father-in-law can build and move onto his place in this 
neighborhood." 

"What family has he?" said Frank, somewhat agitated. 
"Can't say certainly; I've heard my wife's mother 
speak of them. There's Lester himself, three women, and 
a boy; but she was somewhat in the dark as to the rela- 
tionship, and thought there was some mystery about 
them." 

' ' Three women , you say. What are their ages ? Have 
you ever heard them described?" 

"Well, one of them, I suppose, is an old lady, as she 
passes for lycster's mother; another is a young woman 
and is called his wife; besides, there is another elderly 
woman, said to be a widow, with a son ten or twelve years 
old. But my mother-in-law doubts whether any of them 
are all they pretend to be; at any rate, she thinks there 
is some mystery about them." 

"And do you know anything about Lester's occupa- 
tion?" 

"Can't say; he bought the farm, as he said, for farm- 
ing purposes; but I suppose trade and speculation is his 
principal business. I have heard my wife's brother speak 
of his boasting of what sums he had made by his sharp 
tricks in trade." 

•'And you have never seen those women yourself?" 
"Yes; I was there a short time ago, and saw the two 
younger women pass through the yard. They were liv- 
ing in a cabin a few" paces from the one occupied by my 
father-in-law." 

"Can you describe the youngest one — Lester's wife?" 



A hoosier's tramp. 23 

"Rather taller than common, spare-made; light hair, 
inclining to red." 

"That's her," said Frank to me ; "the villain ! the deep- 
dyed villain!" and he relapsed into silence. 

I then entered into conversation with the young man, 
relative to the country through which we were passing. 
He said we were near the northeast corner of the county 
of Van Buren ; "a county organized," said he, "only a year 
ago;" said the first general election was held in August, 
and that the county polled less than two hundred votes; 
that the seat of justice was not yet located; that the courts 
had been held at private houses, on the South Grand 
River, some eighteen or twenty miles to the southwest; 
that there was but one store of goods in all the county, 
and that it was about six miles west of him; that there 
was but one post-office, and that it had just been estab- 
lished, and was twenty miles away. I asked what the pros- 
pect was for entering Government lands in the county. 
He replied that there were but eighteen sections, or half a 
township, yet in market ; that the balance was condemned 
land. Wishing to know what was meant by condemned 
lands, he said it had been returned by commissioners or 
surveyors as not worth surveying, on account of the 
scarcity of timber. The eighteen sections then in market, 
he said, were in the northeast corner of the county; that 
only a small part of that was entered yet ; that there were 
but five or six families living in that half township; but 
that more would be very soon. On my asking how the 
condemned land was taken up and held, he said : "Each 
settler marks out his claim, which, if not unreasonably 
large, is respected l^y everybody else, and no one tres- 
passes upon another; and they run their lines to suit 
their own convenience-" 

"Then," said I, "you have no use for a county surveyor, 
and perhaps have none." 

"Very little use indeed," said he; "I was elected as 
such last August, but it is an office of no profit and very 
little work to do." 

"I see," said I, "that you have Gibson's Surveying; 
at what school did you study it?" 

"At no school at all; haven't been at school since I 
was fourteen years old, and not much before ; but I learned 



24 RURAI, RHYxMES AND OIvDEN TIMES. 

surveying like I learned other things, by hard study at 
home." 

The young housekeeper, having cleared up things, 
invited us to occupy one of the two beds in the cabin, 
and I slept soundly till daylight. 

On waking up, Frank said: " I'll tell j^ou what, Jim, 
I've been dreaming all night about Lester and his rascal- 
ities; and mark what I tell yoU now, he'll get his deserv- 
ings some day. I dreamed it over and over, the same 
thing again and again, and I tell you now, and mind you 
remember it, he'll end his days upon the gallows." 

" I'm going back by there," said he, "and I'll find out 
more about him before I leave the State; and as I said, 
he'll hear from me some day.'" 

I tried to dissuade him from his purpose, saying that 
he could not punish him by law for what he had done; 
and that if he resorted to violence, he would make mat- 
ters worse, and get himself and friends into trouble. 

We paid our bill, more than was asked, and set out 
again on the old trail. About three or four miles further 
on, in going round a farm that had been fenced across 
the trail, we took the wrong road again — the one that led 
to the store which our host had spoken of, and which, as 
I remember, was kept by a Mr. Wright, who was selling 
goods, groceries, medicines, and a little of everything 
needed in new countries. The store was located on a 
high ridge of prairie, from which was an extensive view 
in all directions, with a farm and farm- house in sight 
here and there, but the greater part of the country in its 
native wildness. I afterward saw in Wetmore's Gazetteer 
of Missouri, written in 1836, a mention of this store and 
the surrounding country, which I can vouch for as being 
true at that time. 

Before reaching the store, we were informed, by a man 
that we met in the path, that we were at least a mile 
south of the Shawnee Trace ; and on leafning that we were 
wishing to go to the Platte Purchase, he exclaimed, "Well, 
old Uncle Jimmy Savage is at the store, now on his way 
there, and if you'll hurry up, he can pilot j^ou right thar." 

"But who," I asked, "is old Uncle Jimmy Savage?" 

"Oh!" said he, " everybody knows him, and he knows 
everybody. But if you wish to catch him, you had better 



A hoosier's tramp. 25 

hurry up ; he jest come to the store to get a new hat, and 
he's goin' straight to Independence, and then on to the 
Purchase." 

We trotted on to the store, hitched our horses, and 
went in. I asked the keeper of the store if Mr. Savage 
had been there, as I saw no person present that filled the 
description of an old uncle. 

" Yes," said he ; " been gone onl}'- a few minutes." 

Frank then spoke to the merchant in an undertone, 
informing him of our destination, and asked whether he 
thought Mr. Sa\age a proper traveling companion. 

" Yes," said the merchant ; "there's no harm in old 
Jimmy, and you'll find him an entertaining companion." 

We waited for no more, and on reaching our horses, 
met a youth just alighting, and asked if he had seen any- 
thing of old Mr. Savage. 

" Yaas," said the boy, looking up the road. "Do you 
see that man way ofFyander, on that big roan marr?" 

"Yes." 

"Well, that's him." 

We whipped up, and in less than an hour had come 
up wiih him. A plain farmer-looking man, of perhaps 
sixty years ; dressed in homespun from head to foot, with 
a new wool hat, sure enough. After the first words of 
salutation, I asked if he lived in the vicinity. 

"Yes," said he; "across the creek yander (pointing 
east), a little piece this side o' the Jack." 

"And may I ask," said I, "what you call the Jack?" 

"Oh! the Lone Jack, to be sure." 

"Excuse me, sir, but we are strangers here, and don't 
know any place of that name." 

"Well," said he, "look across over yander ; do you see 
that lone tree, standing on the high prairie? " 

"Yes ; I see something of that sort." 

"Well, that's Lone Jack." 

"And why do you call it Jack, rather than Jim or 
Tom?" 

"Just because the tree is a black Jack tree, and not a 

black Jim. It's been called the lyone Jack ever since I 

know'd it, and that's been a good long while, I tell you; 

♦before there was any roads in the country, or trails 

through the grass; it was our pilot, or landmark, when 



26 RURAI. RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

we was out here bee huutin' and deer huiititi' and huntin' 
elk, which we was mity near every fall." 

"Then you are an old settler in this country?" 

"Old settler! I reckon I am, if twenty-five years counts 
anything. I was in the State ten years before it was a 
State; settled in Cooper County, amongst the Injins, 
before the war of 1 8 1 2 ; and was one amongst the fifteen 
families that forted through the war, in Cole's and Kin- 
kaid's forts, to save our scalps." 

"No doubt, then, you know and could tell something 
about the dangers and hardships of frontier life?" 

"Frontier life ! I don't know anything else. I've been 
on the frontier for twenty-five or thirty years; and am 
on my way now to the Platte Purchase, to hunt me a 
home at the jumping-oflF place again." 

"Ah ! is that so? We are on our way to look at that 
countrj^ and would be pleased to have a frontiersman to 
be our companion and pilot." 

"At your service, gentlemen. I know almost every 
hog-path between here and the Missouri River, and a 
good many on the other side, too ; and besides, I have 
several friends and acquaintances lately moved to the 
Purchase ; so you'll find me at home wherever I go." 

Frank now spoke up for the first time, saying, "Are 
you much acquainted in Lafayette County?" 

"Oh, yes; I know most all the settlers there; espe- 
cially in the western part." 

"Are 3^ou acquainted near Greenton?" 

"Mighty well, with the old settlers there. The 
Helmses, the Jameses, the Hoppers, the Whites, the 
Hughes, the Manions, the Barkers, McClure, and Sloane, 
Jennings, Cammel, and a good many others." 

"Do you know any one by the name of Lester?" 

"No; I reckon he's a new-comer. I don't know many 
of them." 

"Do you knov/ the young couple, and what kind 01 
people they are, where we staid last night ; down on the 
Shawnee trail where Mr. Langston once lived?" 

"Mighty well. That youngster kep' our school a year 
or two ago ; and I've known his wife ever since she was 
a child. He's a perfect swinge cat, worse than he looks ; 
that is, he knows more than you think he does. Hi^ 



A HOOSIER'S tramp. 27 

wife's mother is a mighty fine woman, and I reckon she 
is a first-rate gal. She don't know much about readin' 
and writin', but she knows how to spin and weave, and 
milk the cows, and I reckon that boy and gal will make 
a livin'." 

I remarked that what my friend wanted to know, 
principally, was whether they were truthful, as they had 
given him some information in which he was deeply 
interested. 

"I have never heard anything else of them," said he; 
"and if they told you anything that ain't so, I don't think 
they intended it." 

Frank appeared satisfied with the answers, and asked 
where we could cross the river, and how far it was to it. 
"We can cross," said he, "at Ducker's Ferry, or at 
Westport lyanding. I am not certain which way I shall 
go, but I think by Westport. I shall stay in the neigh- 
borhood of Independence to-night, which is twenty miles 
from here; and Westport is ten miles west of it." 

"It looks," said I, "as if we had a good stretch of 
prairie ahead of us." 

"Yes; and we will pass no house till we reach the 
Blue timber, a good ten miles yet." 

I asked if the road we were on was the old Shawnee 
trail. 

"No," said he; "we passed that some distance back, 
and this is the Harmony Mission road, leading to the 
Mission or Injin School on the Osage or Merrydezeen." 
We found the old gentleman a genial, friendly, com- 
municative backwoodsman, with a frank, open counte- 
nance — open in more ways than one ; for there was an 
opening in front of his face that reminded one of a poor 
man's rent — from year to year (without the j). Jle 
interested us with his tales of the early settlement of the 
country and of frontier life, when the boys went courting 
in their deer-skin dressing, and the girls sometimes wore 
dresses of the same material. 

He told us, too, of the dangers, privations, and hard- 
ships of the fifteen families living in the count^^ of Cooper, 
during the War of 18 12, some of his tales being amusing 
and some otherwise. 

One particular incident he recounted, of his own nar- 



28 RURAI, RHYME;S AND OI.DKN TIMKS. 

row escape from the Indians, when he and a fellow-hunter 
named Smith were surprised when outside the fort hunt- 
ing for something to support life inside. 

"We were some distance from the fort," said he, "and 
had killed a fine doe, and was fixing to swing her on a 
pole to carry to the fort, when our dog gave a fearful 
growl and his hair all turned up the wrong way. Smith 
said: ' L,ook out, Jim ! ' and I did look out, and saw some- 
thing I didn't want to see. Across the holler, over on 
the next ridge, we saw about a dozen redskins, who had 
already seen us, and was stealing along through the weeds 
and bushes right toward us. We dropped our venison 
and picked up our guns, and you may bet we made moc- 
casin tracks fast. I was younger then than I am now, 
and had run many a foot-race, but I made better time 
then than I ever made before. Smith soon dropped his 
gun, and we run side and side. The fort was nearly 
north, and the Injins was toward the west. A part of 
them came like all fury right toward us, and a part 
attempted to head us off by striking straight for the fort. 
They were soon near enough to commence shooting. I 
gave a few jumps more, then turned and fired at them, 
and, dropping my old flint-lock, I ran for dear life, giving 
a yell every few moments to let our folks at the fort 
know what was up. A hundred yards further, and Smith 
fell by my side, his blood spurting onto my huntin'-shirt. 
Another moment or two and my calls for help were 
answered from the fort. A gun was fired, and I had the 
pleasure to see the Injins stop. But you may be sure I 
didn't stop, nor did they stop shooting as long as I was 
in reach." 

After he had recounted many of his adventures and 
trials, I asked how long he had been in his present 
location. 

"I moved to where I live now two years ago last 
March, but I have been in Jackson County since 1826, 
before it was organized as a county, when Independence 
was a corn-patch, and deer and turkeys was plenty, and 
the nettles growed as high as my head in places. I built 
a cabin on the I^ittle Blue, up here, and after opening a 
a little corn-field and beatin' meal and hominy for a year or 
two, I built a little water-mill for the accommodation of 



A hoosier's tramp. 29 

the settlers, and remained there till the winter of 1833, 
when I sold it and moved down by the Lone Jack, and 
am living now in the first house that was ever built in 
that part of the county — built by a man named Dunna- 
way — one who, like me, has always been trying to be at 
the outside. I hear he is settling or building now at the 
head of Bear Creek, down on the Shawnee Trace. Did 
you see anything of him as you come up ? " 

I told him that we had seen no one after leaving Mor- 
ris's, but that we had passed a set of house-logs at the 
head of the creek. 

"Well," said he, "that's Isaac Dunnaway, and I 
reckon he'll keep a-going." 

" Have the Indians ever given you any trouble here ? " 
I asked. 

"No," said he, "we have never had any to speak of. 
Our old women would sometimes take a skeer, and some 
of the old-womanish men would run and hide. But we 
never had any war trouble that amounted to much, till 
the Mormons come here and kicked up a dust, and we 
had to drive 'em off. But may be you don't know any- 
thing about Mormons? " 

I assured him that we did not. 

"Then you needn't want to know anything about 
'em," said he, and I thought he was not going to tell me 
anything. 

After a few moments I asked, "What kind of people 
are they? " not exactly knowing whether they were peo- 
ple or some other kind of "varmint." 

"Oh," said he, " they claimed to be some kind of a 
religious sex, and said they had received a revelation 
from heaven, which the angel Gabriel, or some other 
angel, brought down on plates of gold to their prophet, 
Joe Smith ; that it had been revealed to 'em that they 
were to build a Zion, or New Jerusalem, on the spot 
where Independence now is ; and that the whole county 
of Jackson had been given to the Saints (as they called 
themselves) for an inheritance, and that the Gentiles was 
to be driven out and dispossessed." 

"And did they have their preachers, and what kind 01 
doctrine did they preach? " 

"Yes, they had their preachers, or elders, as they 



30 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

called 'em; and their preachin', I reckon, was like every- 
body else's — better than their practice. They put up a 
printing office at Independence, and printed a newspaper 
filled with nonsensical prophecies and revelations made 
by the Almighty to His servants, Joseph, and Sydney, and 
Oliver, and Parley, and layman, and Ziba, and I can't tell 
you how many more ; their preacher pretending to speak 
in unknown tongues, heal the sick, and work miracles, 
and, so far as I could see, it was all an unknown jargon 
of foolishness." 

"And did they attempt to dispossess the other citizens, 
or the Gentiles?" 

" Yes, in a certain way; you see, a few of them located 
near Mr. A, and by their petty thieving, their trespasses 
and insulting ways, would so annoy him that to escape their 
deviltries he would sell out to them for a mere song ; and 
then half a dozen more of them, located on his place, 
would so annoy Mr. B, adjoining, that he too would sell out 
to escape them ; and so on, first one and then another, 
until it seemed that the whole possy would be bought 
out, from A to Izzard. So we got together, and said it 
had to be stopped ; and if any more dispossessing had to 
be done, it would be the other way, 

" They had a strong settlement at Independence, one 
at Westport, and scattered members all over the county. 
"About the last of September, three years ago, some 
of the heathen Gentiles about Independence got together, 
pulled down the printing office, tarred and feathered their 
Elder Partridge, and whistled ' Bob White ' at him, and 
ordered the whole lot of Latter-day Saints to get away. 
They went to Westport, where, a few weeks after, the 
Gentiles and the Mormons had a little brush of a fight. 
The Mormons also came in force to attack Independ- 
ence, but were met by a force so large that they didn't 
do it; and after some palavering, they agreed to leave 
the county ; and they did leave and went across the river 
into Clay." 

"And that," said I, "was the last of them, I suppose? " 

"Not the last, by any means," was his repl)^ "The 

next spring some of their head men from New York and 

Ohio came on with large reinforcements, and they resolved 

to come back and wipe us all out. 



A hoosier's tramp. 31 

"That was the biggest scare and excitement we ever 
had. The whole county was in arms, with a part of 
Lafayette to help us. A company of fifty or more, from 
our part of the county and Van Buren, which then was 
a part of Jackson, elected me their captain, and we made 
a forced march to Independence in the night. The night, 
you remember, that the moon was eclipsed, two 3^ears 
ago last June. Well, we got there, but the Mormons 
hadn't come yet; and when they found out we was too 
strong for 'em, they gave it up, and entered into some 
sort of treaty to disband their army and let us alone." 

"And where are they now?" asked Prank. 

"Up on north Grand River. They stayed a year or 
more in Clay, till the people there got tired of them, and 
drove 'em as we did; and they went to Daviess and Cald- 
well counties and are there yet, and still increasing in 
numbers; and I guess the trouble is not over yet." 

We had left the Mission road, and were pursuing our 
way on a small bridle-path, or trail, through the grass, 
and after awhile came to the timbered lands of the lyittle 
Blue; and as we proceeded the country became more 
rough and uneven, with here and there a cabin and small 
corn-field, and as we passed, our companion would now 
and then point out spots where he had killed elk or deer, 
or cut bee-trees, and recount the circumstances. On 
reaching the Blue, we found a small grist-mill and a small 
and narrow corn-field, which our companion told us 
he had formerly owned, and sold it to its then owner, a 
Mr. Hawkins. He pointed out the spot where his first 
cabin stood, and where his nearest neighbor then resided. 
Having some business at the mill, he stopped there ; 
directing us where we could find a blacksmith, to put a 
shoe on each one of our horses, we parted company, 
agreeing to meet the next morning at the store of Gen- 
eral Owens, in Independence. After some trouble, we 
found the shop and the smith, who was also an old 
' pioneerQohnson, I think, by name) ; a smith who manu- 
factured his own coal, having a large charcoal pit burning 
at the time. 

On being asked if he knew old Jimmy Savage, he 
replied, "Oh! certainly; everybody knows him. He's 



32 RURAL RHYMES AND OlyDEN TIMKS. 

the first preacher that ever preached in these diggins ; or 
if not the first, near about it." 

" Well," said Frank, "that beats me. I knew he was 
farmer, miller, hunter, and soldier, but didn't dream that 
he was a preacher." Having to make our horseshoes 
from a heavy bar of iron, and also to make the nails to 
put them on with, the sun was quite low before we left 
the shop. The smith said if we did not wish to go on 
to town, we could stay at Stayton's or at Shepherd's. 
We stopped at Stayton's about sunset, and were told that 
it was two miles to town, and that we could stay. He 
appeared to be a well-to-do farmer; had a good farm in 
a beautiful location ; a large family, mostly boys. We 
had supper soon, and our host informed us that there 
was to be preaching at the meeting-house, and that he 
hoped we would excuse him, as he wished to be in 
attendance. 

Frank, who was a church-going man, proposed that 
if it was not too far, we would attend also. On being 
told that it was but a short mile, and that the family 
would walk, we all set out together. We had been told 
that it was a Baptist meeting, and that Parson White, of 
Lafayette County, was expected to preach. 

I suppose that this fact was one reason why Frank 
wished to be in attendance. 

He was, however, disappointed. Elder White was 
not present. The pastor of the church, Fitzhugh, I 
think, opened the services ; and while singing the open- 
ing hymn, we were surprised to see our traveling com- 
panion enter, and, on a signal from the preacher, walk 
up into the stand. After the hymn and prayer, and a 
whispered consultation of half a minute, the tall preacher 
announced his text : "By grace are ye saved." I soon 
found that he was not only a Baptist, but one of the 
kind called " hard-shell," or extreme Calvinistic. He 
appeared to be a man of some intelligence and well read, 
but somewhat eccentric in his manners and arguments, 
bringing smiles to the face oftener than tears to the eyes. 

At the close of the sermon old Uncle Jimmy rose 
slowly, and, after singing "Am I a Soldier of the Cross? " 
opened his discourse about as follows : 

" My dear brethren, friends and old neighbors, as our 



A hoosier's tramp. 33 

good brother down at Salem would say, my tex' is found 
at verse 8, IV chapter of the one I John : ' God is love.' 
So well convinced was the Apossel John of this fact that 
he said it not only once, but twice or ofF'ner. You'll 
find it at verse 8, and again at verse i6 ; and, my friends, 
I believe he meant just what he said — that God, the great 
God of heaven and earth, is love, first, and last, and all 
the time ; that He is love from the beginning to the end ; 
not a part love and a part hate, but love all the time ; 
and, being love, and loving the whole of the lost race of 
Adam, He gave His only Son, the Lord Jesus, to die for 
them, for me and for you, and for all, ' That whosoever 
believeth in him shall not perish, but have everlasting 
life.' Brethren, this is all the doctrine I have to preach 
on this tex'. You know that Old Jimmy is called the 
exhortin' preacher. Then let me to-night exhort you, 
as though it were the last night of my life and yours, if 
you have not already believed in Him and come to Him, 
to make a start now. Let me plead with you, as one 
who loves you well, to ground the arms of your rebel- 
lion against One who loves you much better, and died 
that you might live." 

For twenty minutes then he continued to exhort the 
unbelieving part of the audience, in language that drew 
tears from his own as well as other eyes ; completely, as 
I thought, upsetting the predestinarian doctrines of his 
brother and predecessor. 

After we returned from church, I asked our host who 
Uncle Jimmy meant by the good brother at Salem ? 

"Well," said he, " I suppose it is Brother Joab Powell, 
a good and worthy preacher, but one that is quite illit- 
erate — scarcely able to read intelligibly — and who is 
reported to have taken his text or quoted something from 
the 'two chapter of one I John' ; a made tale, no doubt," 
said he. 

Our host told us that his father and a younger 
brother were also Baptist preachers, and that this denom- 
ination was the prevailing one in the county. 

The next morning, at the store agreed upon, we met 
our traveling companion of the day before. We found 
Independence to be the most beautiful town and the 
largest we had seen since leaving St. Louis. 



34 RU'RAI, RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

In addition to the store of Samuel C. Owens, who 
afterwards fell at the battle of Sacramento, in the Mexi- 
can War, there were several others, which our friend 
Savage told us were doing a good business. There was 
also a variety of tradesmen, such as smiths, saddlers, 
tailors, wagon-makers, hatters, etc. Leaving Independ- 
ence for Westport, we crossed over what our pilot told 
us was the Temple Lot, on which the Mormons were to 
build the Mount Zion of the latter days. And as we 
stood upon that elevated and beautiful site, surrounded 
by the beautiful and fertile country on all sides, we could 
not do otherwise than commend the good taste of the 
revelator, whoever he was, that revealed this as the 
chosen site of the New Jerusalem. 

A ride of three hours brought us to Westport, on the 
western boundary of the State, the State line, as we were 
told, being less than a mile west of the town. It was 
the outside verge of civilization, or the white man's resi- 
dence. Beyond the State line, we were told, the Shaw- 
nee, the Delaware, and the Wyandotte Indians had their 
homes or reservations. Dozens of them were in the 
streets and stores that morning, in their grotesque habil- 
iments, some comparatively well dressed, and some 
almost naked. The Santa Fe and mountain traders were 
also arriving from the western plains, with their long 
teams of oxen and mules. Indians, Mexicans, and Mis- 
sourians were mixed and mingled together in the one 
street of that small western frontier town. But as we 
were in haste to cross the river into the lately purchased 
territory — the promised land to many an expectant emi- 
grant — we stayed not long to make inquiries about the 
trade or business of this bustling village, but left it 
with the impression that in the future it might eclipse, 
in size and business, many a larger town. 

Our pilot having transacted his business, we set oft 
in a northern direction for the river, or, as it was called, 
the landing. A wagon-road had been made with great 
labor, leading from the steamboat-landing up into the 
town, a distance of three or four miles. A few cabins 
and corn patches were seen and passed, but we were 
told that the larger part of the land was held by specu- 
lators and large land-holders of Westport and vicinity. 



A hoosier's tramp. 35 

We found the landing under a steep bluff, which 
extended for some distance up and down the river ; the 
roughest and hilliest landscape we had seen since leav- 
ing Springfield. 

The hills, steep and rugged, appeared to be thrown 
together in confusion, separated only by deep and almost 
impassable gorges, extending from the mouth of the 
Kaw for miles down the river ; and no thought entered 
our minds that this was to be the site of the future great 
metropolis — Kansas City. 

Having crossed the river, we found quite a different 
country; instead of rough hills and gorges, as on the 
south side, we found a level bottom, extending for miles 
up and down the river, and far out to the north. Taking 
the road leading north, through the western part of Clay 
County, we came to the small town of Barry, and then 
turning west, were soon passing the lately built cabins 
and the newly cleared lands of the Platte Purchase. 
Every mile, two or three cabins were seen and passed, 
which indicated that if the country was not already 
settled, it soon would be. 

It was night when we arrived at the house of the 
friend for whom Uncle Jimmy had been inquiring. I^ike 
all the others, it was a newly settled place on a stream 
called Bee Creek. There was no barn or stable, but we 
were provided with halters, and our horses, as well as 
ourselves, were made welcome and comfortable. The 
conversation was almost wholly carried on by Uncle 
Jimmy and his old friend and family, which Frank and I 
enjoyed almost as much as they, as there were a good 
many interesting stories and reminiscences of the old 
times to talk over, and many hearty laughs were indulged 
in at the recital of those stories of the past. 

Amongst other things, I remember the conversation 
turned upon ghosts and ghost stories. Uncle Jimmy 
said the most of these stories were all fiction. "But," 
said he. " I remember one in which I acted a part that 
had no fiction in it. • It was when I was a 5'oung man, 
in ray courting days, that me and three other mischiev- 
ous youngsters happened at the Widow B's on a winter 
evening, all bent upon a courtship. There was four 
boys of us and only three gals ; and it so turned out that 



36 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDKN TIMES. 

I was the one that was left — that is, left without a part- 
ner. I staid, though, till near bedtime, talking to Bob, 
the big brother, and playing pranks and jokes on the 
other boys and gals, and at last picked up my hat to go 
home. One of the gals (my gal, by the bye) said that if 
I started I'd get scared in going by the graveyard and 
come back on the run. 

"Her partner — the chap that had cut me out — said 
he'd bet a ninepence that I wouldn't dare to go by the 
meetin'-house at all, but that if I did go home I'd go 
some round-about way, so as to miss the ghosts. 

" These insinuations got my dander up, and I told the 
gal that she wouldn't see me running back there in a 
hurry; and I told Jack I'd take his bet, and to prove that 
I went the direct road, I'd go into the meetin'-house and 
write the first letter of my name on the pulpit. 'Done!' 
said Jack, 'and I tell you now, Jim, that big "J" won't 
get on the pulpit to-night.' The other gals laughed, and 
the other boys said they'd like to go a ninepence too. 
But I told 'em I didn't want their money, but I did want 
to show 'em I wasn't a coward, and that the winning of 
one ninepence would be as convincing as if I had won a 
hundred; and picking up a piece of charcoal from the 
hearth, I put on my hat and started. The snow was on 
the ground full six inches deep — soft and light — and I 
hurried on, too mad, as I thought, to be skeered at ghosts 
or anything else. It was but a short distance to the meetin'- 
house, an old log building, whose one door usually stood 
open, at least it was never locked, and I knowed I would 
have no trouble in getting in to make my mark. I passed 
the gravej^ard pretty brave; my hair did rise up a little, 
but I kept my hat on and pressed it down, keeping on 
till near the door of the meetin'-house, when I stopped 
short. A deep, hollow groaning seemed to come from 
the house, as if some one breathing in the last agonies of 
death. Pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, went my heart, and I felt as 
if my feet would like to beat the same music in the snow. 
Two or three times I turned round to leave the house and 
hurry home, and as often turned back to hear the same 
fearful groaning, deep and death-like. 

"All at once it occurred to me that Bob had left the 
room just before I started, as he said, to go to bed ; and 



A hoosikr's tramp. 37 

made up my mind that it was a put-up job to get a big 
joke upou me, and that Bob was in the house, making all 
that fearful noise. I was mad enough before; the cut- 
ting-out had put me in bad humor. The insinuations of 
my want of courage had raised my dander still higher, 
and now I was awful mad. The moon was near setting 
and gave but little light; but I managed to find a stick 
or club to my notion, and screwing up my courage to the 
upper notch, I marched up to the door — up on the steps. 
The door was open; I listened; the groaning seemed to 
come from under the pulpit, right where I was to make 
the big 'J.' I thought the death-groans too natural to 
be imitated b}^ Bob or anybody else; but I made up my 
mind to give Bob, or the ghost, or whoever it was, a taste 
of my club ; and drawing back, I let fly with all my might. 
Before I could think, a large figure in white was coming 
right toward me. It looked, as I thought, a hobgoblin 
in size and in deed, and in an instant, before I could move 
or think of moving, I felt myself lifted off the steps and 
being carried through the air some distance, and then 
thrown to the ground." 

"L,aw! law!" said one of the girls present; "whatdid 
you do?" 

"Well," said he, "I didn't faint; I didn't scream; I 
didn't jump up and run ; but I got up and laughed. And 
what do you think it was? Nothing but an overgrown 
white sow that had gone into the house to sleep in the 
dry, and when her slumbering and snoring was disturbed 
by the whack of my stick, had run with all speed, and 
coming between my legs, lifted and carried me into the 
yard and then dropped me and run off, while the grunt- 
ing and squealing of the shotes told the tale. 

"Well, as I said, I got up, and after getting over my 
laugh, I brushed off the snow, felt in my jacket pocket 
for my fire-coal; went in and up to the hog-bed by the 
pulpit, and made my mark, which the boys were curious 
enough to come and look for next morning; and Jack 
was man enough to pay the ninepence, but I was not 
man enough to tell all the story that I've told to-night." 
We parted company next morning with the old fron- 
tier preacher and his kind friends, and made our explora- 
tions through the Platte country alone. It is not my pur- 



38 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

pose to State what we saw or did further, save only to say 
that Frank selected a home in what is now Buchanan 
County, to which he afterward moved ; and that I returned 
to spend my days amongst the Hoosiers on the White 
River. On our return we stopped and tarried all night 
near Greenton. Frank could learn nothing further about 
Lester than we had heard on our way up. All that had 
been told us, however, was confirmed. We were told 
that the man whom he had bought out, and with whom 
for a time he lived, had moved off, and no one else seemed 
to know much about his domestic affairs. 

Frank was persuaded to proceed on without seeing 
his cousin or provoking a quarrel with her seducer. He 
informed me, though, that he had made arrangements 
with a young man, that he thought he could depend upon, 
to watch Lester's movements, find out all he could, and 
keep him (Frank) posted. 

Yeqrs passed. Frank was in Buchanan. I had be- 
come a man of family, and many of the incidents of my 
journey to Missouri had faded from my memory. I re- 
ceived letters from Frank, at long intervals apart. In 
one he told me he had managed to correspond with his 
cousin, and also with her friends in Virginia, and that 
she had abandoned Lester and returned to her relations. 
A few years later, another letter closed with these words : 
"You remember J. C. Lester; he has met his deserts, as 
I told you he would ; my dream has been realized. He 
was hung last week, at Clinton in Henry County, not 
many miles from where we met him on the open prairie. 
A history of all his crimes, and their incidents, would fill 
a volume." 

A short time after, as I was returning home from our 
country town, I fell in with a traveler, who said he was 
from Lafayette County, in Missouri. I asked immediately 
if he ever knew John C. Lester. 

"Yes," said he, "I knew him for years." 

"And is it true that he was hung recently?" 

"Yes, very true; and if anybody ever deserved hang- 
ing, I suppose he did." 

"For murder, I suppose?" said I. 

"Yes, sir; we never hang for anything else, and not 
often enough for that." 



A hooker's tramp. 39 

On ni}^ remarking that I would like to hear the par- 
ticulars, as a friend had said they would fill a volume, he 
said: "Yes, sir, a good large one; and it would be a long 
story to give even a sketch of his career in crime." . 

"Well," said I, " I feel an interest in that story; I knew 
him when I was a boy, and I know something of his 
early tricks; saw him once in Missouri, and heard some- 
thing of his doings there; and if you'll stop over night 
with me, and give what you know of his history, I will 
make j'-ou a welcome guest as long as you please to stay, 
and will be very much your debtor beside." 

It being near night, he consented, and during the even- 
ing gave me the desired history, the substance of which 
I give, as nearly as I can, in his own words: 

"I was never intimately acquainted with Lester — I 
lived in the western part of the county ; saw him occa- 
sionally, and heard him spoken of as a scheming, specu- 
lating trickster. He first bought out an old settler by the 
name of Lynch; a good farm of eighty acres, for $600. 
He soon sold that, at a large profit, and partly bought and 
partly swindled a Mr. Hughes out of one of the best 
farms in the Greenton valley, and settled himself upon 
it. About this time, it is said, a young man from Vir- 
ginia, by the name of Horton, was employed by a friend 
or relation of Lester's wife, or rather the woman that he 
lived with, to assist him in unearthing some of Lester's 
dark deeds, and to secure the return of the woman to her 
friends. He succeeded in this, it was said; but because 
his employer could not or would not pay him all he 
demanded for his services and the secrets he had pos- 
sessed himself of, he sold himself to Lester, who, find- 
ing that Horton knew so much that he was completely 
in his power, gave him large sums of money and took 
him into partnership, and together they practiced their 
deeds of villainy. Being rid of the woman that he 
brought there with him, amongst other money-making 
schemes, he concluded to marry the daughter of a wealthy 
widow owning a large farm, several slaves, and other prop- 
erty, witk but two children, a son and daughter. For 
this purpose, or for some other, he professed religion and 
joined the Baptist Church, and for some time was a prom- 
inent member of that dQ,nomination." 



40 RURAI, RHYMES AND OI,DEN TIMES. 

I here asked him what became of his mother and the 
widow that he carried to Missouri with him. 

" I believe," said the gentleman, "that his mother died 
a few years after coming there, and after he married the 
Widow Sc^^tt's daughter — or perhaps before, the other 
woman left him. Lester, however, kept her son as a kind 
of servant, claiming that the boy had been bound to him 
by his mother as an apprentice. This the mother and 
boy both denied, and after a time she brought suit for the 
boy and his wages. On the trial, Lester produced the 
articles of apprenticeship, and the man Horton, whose 
name was signed as a witness, swore to them as genuine, 
and the widow lost her suit. The community, however, 
were not satisfied, and the friends of the widow and of 
justice went to work, and at the next term of court Les- 
ter and Horton were both indicted; one for forgery and 
the other for perjury. 

" The trials were put off from time to time, and in the 
interval other strange occurrences took place. The 
wealthy widow whose daughter Lester had married held 
her farm and negroes during life, and was not disposed 
to divide with her children as they desired ; and on a win- 
ter's evening, when the negroes were all off at a corn- 
husking, the widow was burned to death in her house, 
where she had been left alone. 

"Circumstances pointed to the fact and the neighbors 
believed that she was put into the fire by Lester, but as 
there was no proof of it, he was never arrested for it. 
The widow being being out of the way, the property of 
course descended to the son and daughter. King Scott, 
the son, a reckless spendthrift, who was thought to be 
hand in glove with Lester in his rascalities, was after a 
time arrested for theft. The officer having him in charge 
permitted him to go to bed at night in an upper room, 
and, after hiding his prisoner's clothes, went to bed and 
to sleep himself, below stairs. In the ni'ght Scott got up, 
came down, and, stealing the officer's clothes, decamped 
and made good his escape. Rewards were offered, and a 
diligent search was made, but all in vain. Nobody had 
seen him, and he never was seen again alive by any of 
the neighbors. In a short time Horton was tried for per- 
jury and sent to the penitentiary (I believe for five years). 



A hoosiek's tramp. 41 

"Months passed and I^ester was in possession of the 
Scott farm, and no tidings or clue to the whereabouts of 
the missing brother. Circuit court came on again, and 
I^ester was tried for forgery and acquitted, owing, it was 
thought, to the influence that money has in our courts of 
justice. The friends of Horton then got up a petition to 
the governor, for his pardon and release, on the ground 
that if lycster was not guilty, Horton was not. In other 
words, if the articles of apprenticeship were not forged, 
but genuine, then Horton had sworn truly. On this peti- 
tion he was pardoned, and returned home. Lester had 
not manifested much- desire to get him released, but he 
manifested great anxiety to be the first to see him after 
he returned. But others were before him, and the silence 
or the secret which he wished to secure was imparted to 
others, and astonished all who heard it. He said King 
Scott was no longer living; that he had been murdered; 
that he saw him killed; that he saw him buried; and that 
Lester was the murderer, and that he could now point 
out the spot where he was buried. A warrant was at 
once issued for the arrest of Lester, and the sheriff with 
a posse of men set out to make the arrest, and the guilty 
culprit was taken in charge. On the way to Lexington 
(the county seat), as their horses were drinking at the 
Little Sni, Lester suddenly wheeled his horse and fled. 
He was mounted on a strong and swift horse, but the 
sheriff was equally well mounted, and after a race of six 
hundred yards, came near enough to fire a pistol-shot, 
which took effect, disabling one of Lester's arms; but he 
still whipped with the other. The sheriff at length rode 
up by his side and ordered him to stop or be shot. He 
replied: 'I can't hold him.' 'Then quit whipping, you 
rascal.' The horse was at length stopped, and Lester 
fell off, apparently dying. His captors, however, thought 
there was more of 'possum' than death, and hurried him 
on to prison. In the meantime, Horton, with an officer 
and a squad of men, was dispatched to dig up the bones 
of the murdered man. Some thought he too was 'pos- 
summing,' or trying to make believe. One of the men 
present afterwards told me that when the spot was 
pointed out and he commenced digging in the bottom ol 
a small ravine in which the water was then flowing, he 



42 RURAI, RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

did. SO with the firm conviction that nothing would be 
found. 

" 'There was nothing,' said he, 'to indicate that the 
spot had ever been visited by the foot of man since the 
world began. As they dug,' he said, 'Horton sat on 
the bank, looking as confident and unconcerned as if he 
had been overseeing a parcel of boys digging potatoes.' 

"That nothing was found as they proceeded, that 
indicated that the earth had ever been disturbed, until 
the body was reached. The bones were lifted out, but 
the head was wanting, as Horton had said it would be. 
The shiit, drawers, and vest were entirety rotten ; but the 
stolen pants in which he had escaped from the ofiicer 
were in such a state of preservation as to hold together 
while lifting the body from the pit. The pantaloons and 
the watch in the pocket were recognized as those belong- 
ing to the officer, and no doubt remained that these were 
the bones of King Scott. The conviction, however, was 
strong in the minds of all, that if lycster was guilty, Hor- 
ton was accessory and equally guilty, and he too was 
taken into custody, and both were indicted for the mur- 
der, lycster's trial came on first. Horton was the prin- 
cipal witness against him ; but there were other circum- 
stantials that strengthened his testimony." 

"But," said I to the stranger, "how did Horton ac- 
count for seeing so much of the murder and burial with- 
out implicating himself as taking part in it?" 

"As well as I remember, his story was that he was 
passing through the woods hunting, a few days after 
Scott made his escape, when he saw Scott and I^ester 
walking along together, when something that he saw or 
heard induced him to secrete himself and watch their 
movements. 'l/cster,' he said, 'had carried provisions 
or something to Scott to aid his escape, and as Scott 
stooped to pick up something, Lester struck him a heavy 
blow on the back of the head, and, following up his 
blows, soon deprived him of life.' That Lester walked a 
short distance, and returned with a spade, and buried 
him near by where he was killed. He also went on to 
say that some days after, as he was hunting again in the 
same woods, he went to the spot and found that the 
body had been taken up or rooted up by the hogs, and 



A hoosier's tramp. 43 

was lying there with the head gone and nowhere to be 
seen; said that some hours after, as he was returning 
home, near the spot, he saw Lester carrying the bod}' 
toward the branch or ravine ; that he hid himself again, 
and watched him until the body was buried in the run- 
ning stream; and that after Lester retired, he went to 
the spot and marked the locality, so that he would be 
able to point it out. 

"By change of venue and other dilatory pleas, Les- 
ter's trial was kept off for a year or two; and the State 
would not bring Horton to trial, as his evidence was 
wanted against Lester. At last the trial came off, at 
Clinton, in Henry County, and he was found guilty, and 
hung only a month or two ago." 

"And where," I asked, "is Horton?" 

"He is there yet, awaiting his trial. People gener- 
ally think he was in the murder ; but as there is nothing 
but circumstantial evidence against him, he will probably 
be acquitted." 

"Yes," said I, "if he has money enough to fee the 
lawyers." 

"Well," said the stranger, "he hasn't got it, but his 
father-in-law has. You see, while he and Lester were 
engaged in their mischief, he married the daughter of a 
wealthy farmer and slave-holder, near Lexington, much 
against the old man's will, and he disowned them both, 
and permitted Horton to go to the penitentiary, without 
raising a finger to help him. But after he was pardoned 
out he took him under his protection and has stood by 
him ever since." 

So ended the story of the stranger, and a few months 
later I heard that Horton had been tried and acquitted, 
and to escape the execrations of the community, or the 
vengeance of "Judge Lynch," had left the county. 



CHAPTER II. 



The years came and went; peace and war succeeded 
each other and came in turn ; friends and acquaintances 
that I had once known were dropping off; my old friend, 
Frank Elmwood, was reposing, as I heard, in the came- 



44 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

tery at St. Joseph; the War of the Rebellion had been 
over for years ; the sons of many a northern and western 
father had found graves in the South ; one of my own 
was buried, I was told, where he fell, near the lone tree, 
the black-jack that the old Baptist preacher had pointed 
out to me on the high prairie, the summit land between 
the waters of the Missouri and the Osage. My own 
health had failed, and I was preparing to leave the home 
where I had so long dwelt, in hope of finding in travel 
that which medical treatment had failed to give, with 
the intention, also, of visiting that soldier's grave beneath 
the lone tree on the high prairie, and to see and revisit 
the country I had passed over with my friend in the 
days of our youthful manhood. My preparations were 
soon made — a gentle and strong horse, a light carriage, 
with a grandson of fourteen to drive and take care of me, 
I set out, proceeding, as before, to Vincennes, and thence 
to St. L/Ouis. My journey through the State of Illinois 
prepared me in some degree for the changes I was to 
witness still further on. The then large and unsettled 
prairies were all now in cultivation; the little villages 
had grown to be large and populous towns, and railroads 
were almost as numerous now as wagon-roads were then; 
St. Ivouis, which we then saw as a good large town, 
stretching up and down the river some distance above 
and below Wiggins' ferry, was now grown to be a city of 
such dimensions as not to be taken in at a single view, 
nor even by several views; but as I gave only the inci- 
dents of a three-days .trip then, I will go over only the 
same ground in my description now. 

Not having any business at Springfield, we proceeded 
leisurely along to Warsaw, on the Osage. It was a new 
and very small village then ; it is not a very large town 
even now, and has not as many marks of improvement 
as some other towns that have outstripped it. From 
thence to Clinton, which in 1836 had just been selected 
as a county seat, with no town at all. We found it now 
a live business place, with a railroad, on which could be 
heard the loud snort of the locomotive, where then the 
snort and whistle of the bounding stag was heard ; and 
where the wild turkey then gobbled almost unnoticed, 
we found railroads, banking and other monopolies gob- 



A hoosier's tramp. 45 

bling up a great part of the proceeds of the farmer's 
labor. 

Leaving CHnton in the afternoon, we stopped some 
distance from the little village of Chilhovvee. From what 
I could learn from my host, who was comparatively an 
old settler, I was led to think we were near the spot where 
we fell in with Lester, in 1836. But how changed was 
the scene ! Instead of an almost boundless prairie, cov- 
ered with rank grass, through which a solitary Indian 
trail was found, I saw a country where field was joined 
unto field — the green fields of wheat and oats, and the 
lately planted fields of corn, the orchards and groves of 
shade-trees, where then scarcely a shrub or switch could 
be seen for miles. And instead of the straight and nar- 
row Indian trail, leading in a direct line to the west- 
northwest, we found broad wagon-roads, leading through 
lanes, zigzagging to the four cardinal points, and this as 
far as the eye could reach. I inquired for our old host of 
forty-three years before, the man of four hundred pounds 
weight. 

"Oh, yes," said our host, "Clark Davis; I have often 
heard of him, but he was dead before I came here." 

He said the old Shawnee trail was only remembered 
by the old pioneers ; that the present road to Westport 
would cross over it many times, but that the traveler 
will never travel on the old trail fifty yards at a stretch. 
I mentioned the singular mound that I had passed over 
in 1836. 

"Yes," said he; "that is called Centre Knob. You 
will pass three or four hundred j^ards north of it to-mor- 
row, with a farm on your left, and a railroad on the right, 
and a town just before you." 

I found our host a well-informed, talkative farmer; 
and on my asking if he ever knew John C. Lester, he 
said: "I never knew him, but I saw him hung; I was a 
boy then, and it was the first and last hanging I ever 
witnessed." 

The next morning I resumed my journey. The 
travel, the change of climate and scenery, or the excite- 
ment, had benefited me very materially, and the weather 
being fine, I set out in excellent spirits, and passed on 
through the prairie country, with farms, houses, and 



46 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDKN TIMES. 

orchards on either hand, and came to the head of Bear 
Creek, where I inquired for the man whose cabin-logs I 
had passed when there before ; but the man said no 
such man as Isaac Dunaway had lived in that vicinity for 
thirty years. 

On and on; we passed first north and then west, all 
the time in a lane, till near noon we arrived at the town of 
Holden, a town of some three thousand inhabitants, on 
the Missouri Pacific Railroad ; from which point another 
railroad branches off, and runs southwest through Harri- 
sonville into Kansas. I was told that I was now a short 
distance north of the old Shawnee trail, and that the whole 
country north and south was under fence. 

Here, then, was a town of three thousand inhabitants, 
in a country where forty-three years before a traveler 
could find no place to stay over night ; a lively, bustling 
city, surrounded by farms which nobody then thought of 
entering, at a dollar and a quarter per acre ; many of 
which were entered, after the graduation law took effect, 
at twelve and a half cents per acre. 

We left Holden, and in two hours or less came 
opposite Centre Knob. I had a great curiosity to stand 
again upon its summit ; and, seeing a path leading 
up to it through the farm, we alighted, hitched the 
horse, and walked up to the top, and stood again upon that 
stony summit. But what a contrast was the view that I 
then had, with the sunset view that I had had so long ago ! 

Instead of one single solitary farm in sight, it was farm 
after farm, and farm joined to farm as far as I could see, 
north, south, east, and west. Four miles to the east was 
the town of Holden, with its thousands; and three-quar- 
ters of a mile to the west was the village of Kingsville. 
And instead of two or three smokes rising from distant 
and unseen farms, were now seen the, smoke from the 
fine flouring mill in Kingsville, and also from the mills 
and other machinery in Holden ; while a black column 
rose from a freight train moving west, and from another 
moving east, as they met and passed each other at Kings- 
ville ; the contrast was almost too great for my weak 
frame to bear. 

Returning to the carriage, we were soon in the streets 
of Kingsville, whicli, I was told, was situated immediately 



A hoosibr's tramp. 47 

on the old Indian trail. Having promised a friend to 
attend to a small matter of business in Pleasant Hill, in 
Cass County (called Van Buren in 1836), I made inquiry 
as to the road and distance, and was told that it was on 
the railroad, the second station above, about twelve miles ; 
and that it was south of the old Shawnee trail. On my 
asking how far from where Wright's store was in 1836, 
my informant said it was the same place; the old store- 
house being one of the first houses ever built there. 

Leaving Kingsville late in the afternoon, we drove on 
and stopped in the little village of Strasburg for the 
night. 

After telling my landlord of my travels through 
Missouri in 1836, and describing our ride through the 
wide and desert prairie, and our night's lodging on the 
old trail, I asked if he knew where the young couple 
were. 

"Yes," said he, "I reckon I know who he is, but he 
lives in Jackson County now ; and his wife has been dead 
more than twenty years. He is an old, gray-headed man 
now, and you wouldn't know him." 

"I guess," said I, "that the little cabin has gone long 
ago." 

"Not all of it," he replied. "It has been moved and 
rebuilt two or three times, and a part of the logs may be 
seen now in a stable that stands on the farm where he 
was then living. By the way," said he, "you ought to 
see his book of poems, and read his description of that 
old cabin home." 

"Ah, indeed! has he turned author and poet? I would 
indeed give a shilling to see a description in rhyme of that 
little cabin, as I saw it then." 

"Well," said he, "I think I can get a copy of the book, 
for I know there are several in town." 

He stepped out and soon returned with a small vol- 
ume entitled "Rural Rhymes and Poems from the Farm," 
and, turning over the leaves, he^ pointed to one of the 
poems, entitled "The Old Cabin Home." 

"That old cabin," said he, "is the one in which you 
lodged that night." 

Putting on mj^ spectacles, I read as follows : 



48 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

THE OLD CABIN HOME. 

Written in 1874, and published in the Independence Sentinel. 

I passed an old cabin of logs to-day, 

Weather-beaten and worn and decayed; 
And it spoke to my mind of friends far away, 

And of loved ones by death lowly laid. 
That cabin was built in a wilderness here — 

'Twas the verge of the settlement then — 
'Twas built long ago by an old pioneer 

Who came in the van of white men ; 

It stood by the side of the old Shawnee Trace,* 

A trail by the Indians made 
As they moved to the west from their old home place, 

Where the bones of their fathers were laid. 
That old pioneer has gone long ago - 

Long since he was laid to his rest. 
And all his descendants, so far as I know. 

Have gone to a still farther West. 

I passed the old cabin, and sadly I mused — 

I wept and the tears fell fast — 
Though now for a stable the cabin is used, 

'Twas my home in the years long past ; 
It spoke of life's joys, its sorrows and strife, 

And a morning in spring-time fair, 
When first setting out on the journey of life, 

That Mary and I came there. 

That old cabin home has sheltered us oft 

From the rains and the wintry blast; 
'Neath its clapboard roof and its clapboard loft 

Many halcyon days I've passed. 
Ah ! dear to my heart is that old cabin yet, 

And the field where I followed the plow — 
That farm and that cabin I cannot forget. 

Though another possesses them now. 

That old-time roof has been gone long, long, 
And gone is the old puncheon floor, 



='-This trace, or trail, was made before the country was settled by white 
men, and made by the Shawnee and Delaware Indians, as they removed from 
the Mississippi to their location above the mouth of the Kansas Kiver. 



A HOOSIER'S TRAMP. 49 

And the wheel, and the loom, and Mary's sweet song 

Is heard in that cabin no more. 
'Tis seldom I see the old cabin of late. 

But my thoughts to it often revert ; 
And if in my eyes the tears congregate, 

I feel that they do me no hurt. 

'Twas there that my sons and daughters were born, 

And there it was some of them died ; 
Those blossoms of hope were cut down in the morn ; 

And Mary now lies by their side. 
'Twas an humble abode, that cabin, I know, 

But I never again shall enjoy 
Another on earth, where the sweets of life flow 

With so little of bitter alloy. 

And now in the cold even-tide of my days, 

As the shadows are lengthening fast, 
I look from out of a dark'ning maze 

To the sunshine of days that are past. 
From out of that cabin's old timbers I fain 

Would carve me a staff, firm and strong, 
On which I can lean, as in weakness and pain. 

On life's journey I totter along. 

I am wayworn and weary; I soon shall go hence, 

And see my old home cabin no more ; 
But when I have quitted this world of offense, 

A home shall I find evermore. 
Ah, yes! there's a mansion prepared, bright and fair, 

For all who the race have well run ; 
And Mary, dear Mary, awaits for me there. 

As of old, till my day's work is done. 

I'm coming, dear Mary, I'll be at home soon ; 

The time of reunion draws nigh ; 
The morning has passed, it is long since noon. 

And the sun has sunk low in the sky; 
I'm leaving the scene of our labors and love — 

The old home I may nevermore see; 
But by faith I can see the fair mansion above. 

And a light in the window for me. 

While I was engaged in reading the poem, my host 
-4— 



50 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

picked up a daily newspaper, the Kansas City Times, I 
think, and for half an hour no^-hing was said. I finished 
the poem, and handed the book to my grandson, who 
was anxiously waiting for it; wiped my eyes and com- 
muned with my own thoughts, while the landlord and 
the boy read on. 

At length the gentleman laid down his paper and 
said: "I see by this paper that there is to be a meeting 
of the old settlers of Jackson, Cass, Clay, and Platte 
counties, at the fair grounds of Kansas City, next Satur- 
day, and that General Doniphan, the great orator and 
hero of Sacramento, in the Mexican War, is to deliver an 
oration ; and that your friend of the cabin is to read a 
poecn descriptive of old times; I should like to be there 
sure." 

"How far," said I, "is Kansas City from Westport?" 

"Oh! " said he, "they are almost the same. Westport 
is one of the suburbs of Kansas City, which now extends 
from the river almost to Westport, and up to the mouth 
of the Kaw." 

" I suppose, then, that it includes the steamboat land- 
ing of forty years ago?" 

"Yes; and all the country adjacent to it." 

"I can't see," said I, "how they could build much of 
a city amongst those hills and hollows." 

"Ah! those hills have to some extent been leveled 
down, and the hollows filled up. If you could be there, 
you would be astonished to see what has been done." 

" Well, then, I am going there. The route I had 
marked out was to Westport, which I visited in 1836; 
thence through Kansas and Arkansas, and then home. 
But I shall be at Kansas City, at that old settlers' meet- 
ing; and now, while I think of it, did you ever know 
anything of an old settler of Jackson County by the name 
of Savage? " 

" Yes, old Jimmy Savage ; I can just remember hear- 
ing him preach when I was a child, but I have heard him 
spoken of so often that I almost seem to have known 
hini always. He moved, as I have heard, to Texas, and 
some of his family are there yet." 

"If I am not mistaken," said I, "he lived near lyone 
Jack; how far is that from here?" 



A hoosier's tramp. 5 1 

" Seven miles north." 

I then informed him of my intention to visit that 
place, and for what purpose ; and asked if he or any of 
his neighbors were in that battle. 

"I was not there," said he, "but some of my neigh- 
bors were. A friend of mine, in town here, was living 
there then, and his house was burned and his wife was 
killed during the action." 

And when I asked how that happened, he replied : 

"The Union soldiers were in the house — a large 
hotel — fighting from it, when the Confederates set fire to 
the house ; that his friend's wife and mother then fled to 
a field, grown up in weeds, and lay down amongst them, 
and while there his wife was struck by a rifle-ball, 
inflicting a mortal wound." 

I asked then, as I had to go to Pleasant Hill and 
intended visiting I^one Jack, Independence, and Westport, 
what would be the best route. 

" I think," said he, " I would go to Pleasant Hill 
first, and from there to lyone Jack, and then to Independ- 
ence." 

Having resolved to follow the route suggested, I left 
early in the morning, and in a few hours was in Pleasant 
Hill ; but it bore no resemblance to the site of the soli- 
tary store-house of the county in 1836. I found the 
business part of the town on a flat or bottom prairie, 
instead of on a hill, and thought the town had the wrong 
name. It was, however, a good large town, or would be 
if the vacant places were filled up ; a population of 2,000 
or 3,000, and doing a large business; situated on the 
Missouri Pacific Railroad, with another road branching 
off and running to Lawrence (the principal town in Kan- 
sas), and other railroad connections contemplated in the 
near future. 

Having attended to my business in town, I set off to 
lyOne Jack. Leaving the depot, I left the low lands, and, 
ascending a gradual rise, we passed several fine churches, 
a large school-building, and passed through what a gen- 
tleman who rode with us told us was Middletown, and 
finally the old town of Pleasant Hill, on the high ridge 
that I had seen before. At my request the gentleman 
pointed out the site of the cabin where Wright was sell- 



52 RURAL RHYMKS AND OLDKN TIMES. 

a 

ing goods in 1836. "The log cabin," he said, "has been 
pulled down long ago, and that fine brick residence yon- 
der occupies its site. His daughter and her husband, Mr. 
Broadhead, live there now." 

We were now on the high land, with its extensive 
view ; but it was a very different view from the one I had 
from the same spot when there before. Instead of the 
Mission road, leading off through the wild prairie grass, 
on which old Jimmy Savage was seen wending his way, 
we were in a broad thoroughfare ; in a lane bounded on 
one side by a corn-field and by an orchard on the other, 
with lanes and corn and wheat-fields and farm-houses as 
far as could be seen. The road to lyone Jack, with the 
exception of a mile or so through the woods on the 
creek, was by and between those farms, and through 
lanes zigzagging north and east. 

About a mile before reaching the town, we fell in with 
a plain, farmer-looking man trudging along on foot 
towards the town. On my asking him if he could show 
me where the Union soldiers were buried there, he said: 
"I reckon I can; I helped to bury them." 

"Ah, indeed! were you there in that fight? " 

"No," said he; "I'm not a fightin' man myself; I 
wasn't there in the fight, but I was pretty soon after." 

"You were not a soldier, then, on either side? " 

" No, sir ; I was living close by, and as soon as the 
fight was all over I came into town to see if I could be 
of any service to those who were hurt." 

"Well," said I, "I have a son buried there, and I 
wish to see his resting-place. Will you get up and ride 
with us and point out the spot? " 

On arriving at the summit of the ridge separating 
the Big Creek from Sni-a-Bar, I saw to the right, in a corn- 
field separated from the town by a hedge, a marble shaft, 
the inscription on which informed -me that it had been 
erected in memory of the Confederate dead who fell on the 
1 6th of August, 1862. M}^ friendly guide informed me that 
he could not point out any particular soldier's grave- 

" They were all buried in a promiscuous manner in 
this long trench," pointing to a slightly raised mound, 
sixty or eighty feet in length by six or seven in width, 
sodded over with blue grass. 



A hoosikr's tramp. 53 

The Confederate dead were buried a few paces to the 
east, very much in the same manner, except that they 
were designated at the time by head-boards with their 
names written upon them, which have nearly all disap- 
peared. Near the south end of the Confederate mound, 
the monument, some fifteen or sixteen feet high, was 
erected, costing about $i,ooo. This- monument was 
erected by voluntary contributions from friends of the 
"Lost Cause," and stands only a few feet from where the 
lone tree that gave the town its name was then stand- 
ing. It had died the year before, and fell a few years 
after, and no vistage of it now remains. 

I asked my good-natured friend to tell me some of the 
particulars of the burial, and how they were put away. 
He answered that they were buried in a hurried manner, 
for help was scarce. "I was requested," said he, "by 
the Federal surgeon, who had remained behind when 
the soldiers retreated, to assist in gathering up and 
hauling the dead to a place of burial. While I and some 
others were at this, some eighteen or twenty prisoners 
were engaged in digging the grave, or trench, to put 
them in. We did not get them buried that day, and the 
next morning another Union army, under Generals 
Blunt and Warren, came in sight, and the Southern sol- 
diers left in a hurry, and the Federals after them, and 
the citizens were left to finish burying the dead, to take 
care of the wounded, and get the dead horses 'out of 
town, which was a heavy task. The dead were all laid 
in the trench side by side, heads and feet alternately 
toward the sun -rising, so as to occupy less space." 

I asked how many Union soldiers were laid beneath 
that mound. 

" I cannot say certainly," said he. " When the battle 
ended there were forty dead upon the ground, others 
died before night, and I have heard it said there were 
thirteen others dead next morning and some others died 
before the ambulances came from Lexington to carry 
the wounded off; so that I guess there is not less than 
sixty lying there now." 

"And how many on the other side are in this other 
trench on the east? " 

"Near about the same number. Fifty-nine head- 



54 RURAI, RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

boards were counted a week or two after, and some were 
carried away and buried in other places." 

Here, then, thought I, beneath this grassy mound 
lies that loved son of mine ; and there lies the hope of 
many a fond parent's heart. Here lies the gallant son, 
the devoted brother, the affectionate father, the loving 
husband, and the patriotic soldier, who laid down their 
lives in their country's defense; and that country has 
placed no stone to mark their last resting-place ; and 
sorrowing and surviving friends can place no head-stone 
at the loved one's grave because no one can know under 
what part of this long mound the loved one reposes. 
Bidding a sad adieu to the soldiers' grave, and a kind 
farewell to my obliging and stranger guide, I passed 
through the little village made historic with what is 
said to have been the hardest fought contest in the State 
during the whole war, and before night was some miles 
on my way to Independence. 

There were a good many young folks where I staid, 
and a good deal of mirth and jollity, and as the events 
of the day had unfitted me for enjoying their amuse- 
ments, I asked leave to retire early, and consequently 
had but little conversation with the worthy man of the 
house. Next morning I found that he had lived nearly 
all his life in Jackson County (nearly fifty years). I 
asked if there was any road leading to Savage's or Haw- 
kins' mill, on the lyittle Blue. 

" I reckon not," said he ; " that old mill has not run 
for more than thirty years, and the country is so fenced 
up that I would not know how to get there. And to go 
to Independence now, we must go the public road bj^ 
lyce's Summit, or else by Blue Springs." 

" Do you know any person near Independence by the 
name of Stayton ?" 

" I used to know several of them,", was the reply. 

"And do they live on either of these roads?" 

" Yesi; on the Blue Springs road." 

" Then direct me that way." 

Receiving my directions, I set out and passed on 
through a fine prairie country in a fine state of cultiva- 
tion, but I thought some of the farms were too large, and 
that some men were monopolizing more of mother earth 



A hoosier's tramp. 55 

than was good for the community at large. The soil 
appeared to be excellent, the richest and fairest portion 
of the State I had yet seen. It was not many hours till 
we came to a town lately laid out on a new railroad, the 
Chicago & Alton, and were told it was the town of Blue 
Springs, which has a beautiful site, as well as a beautiful 
country surrounding it. After noon we came to the 
farm where I was told Mr. Stayton lived many years 
ago. I found the house as it was then, on the summit 
of a ridge of woodland, but everything was changed. A 
fine brick house stood near by where the old one had 
been ; the farm was enlarged, and other farms and farm 
houses were in close proximity. 

We stopped for dinner. The old man, as I expected, 
was dead — had been for many years. I asked for his 
sons — the boys I had seen. They, too, were dead. A 
daughter-in-law was living on the old homestead. I was 
disappointed again ; I had expected to see at least some 
of the younger members of the family. I was in hop^, 
too, that I would pass by and see the old log meeting- 
house, but was told that the road had been changed and 
no longer ran that way, and that the old house was no 
longer in being, but a brick church in town was now 
used in its place. 

As I was getting ready to start, a light wagon with 
two old men and an elderly woman passed by, going 
toward the town, and the young man with whom I had 
been conversing asked me if I was going to the old 
settlers' meeting at Kansas City. On my saying that I 
expected to be there, he remarked, " There go some old 
folks now, and I guess they are going there too." 

We drove on slowly after the wagon till we reached 
town. Everything was strange again. We entered the 
town from the south, instead of from the east, as before ; 
and, before reaching the public square, crossed a railroad 
that runs through the town, and were told that there 
were two others in less than a mile of that one. The 
public square looked something the same, but the court- 
house was larger, taller, and far more imposing, and 
fenced around with an iron fence. The town was much 
larger, the buildings larger and taller ; but this was no 
more than I had expected. I drove to the southwest 



56 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

corner of the square and looked for the store of Samuel 
C. Owens ; but the one-story frame building was not 
there ; on the corner where it stood was a large two- 
story brick building, the banking house of Chrisman & 
Sawyer. The carriage ahead of me stopped in front of 
the post-office, near the bank, and I drew up at the same 
place. Drawing near, I entered into conversation with 
the oldest of the two men, asking if he had much 
acquaintance in the place. 

"Very little," said he; "in fact, scarcely any now. 
The time was Vv'hen I knew everybody here, and every- 
body knew me. But now I know nobody, and nobody 
knows me." 

" You are an old settler, then," I observed. 

"Yes; one of the oldest. I cut the first logs for a 
cabin that were cut in the town. That was fifty-five 
years ago, and the most of them were cut on the Temple 
L/Ot, out west here — the lot that the Mormons claim the 
grand Temple of the New Jerusalem is to be built upon." 

"Then you were fortunate in selecting your home, 
as,' no doubt, the county or somebody paid you well 
for it." 

" Not so fortunate, either," he replied; " for I lost my 
labor in cutting the logs. Another pioneer informed me 
that I was trespassing on his claim, and when he showed 
me that he had marked off" his claim a few days before I 
did mine, I gave it up and selected another a few miles 
east of here." 

"Then," said I, "you know all the first settlers, I sup- 
pose." 

"Yes; nearly all." 

"Did you know the Baptist preacher. Savage?" 

" Oh, yes ; I knew him, and Stayton, and Fitzhugh, and 
Powell, and Jackson, and some others. In fact, I believe 
I knew more men then, as thinly settled as the county 
was, than I do now, when it has its eighty thousand 
inhabitants." 

"Are any of your family living?" 

"Yes; this is my son," pointing to the other old man, 
"and this is his wife. He was a small boy when I came 
here, and his wife was the first female white child born 
in the county." 



A hoosier's tramp. 57 

"Then I suppose you are going to the old settlers' 
meeting to-morrow?" 

"Yes; we will be there if nothing happens." 

I then bade him good-by, and expressed a hope tliat 
I should see him next day. 

I found Westport not much larger than when I saw 
it before, but everything was changed there, too. The 
Indian and the Mexican were not there ; the store-houses 
were larger, but doing a smaller business; of Santa Fe 
and Chihuahua traders, their wagons and teams, none were 
to.be seen; of the mountain and fur traders and trappers, 
I saw none. Instead of the lazy Indian and Mexican, I 
saw the Dutch and Irish laborers. Instead of the ox and 
mule wagons, I saw the street cars, the pleasure car- 
riages, hacks and omnibuses passing to and from Kansas 
City every few minutes,, while the large wagon and yoke 
factory was no longer there. 

I put up at a private boarding-house and had a good 
night's rest, my host telling me how the glory of West- 
port and its western trade departed when the Territory 
of Kansas was settled and the city of Ivcavenworth sprang 
into existence. 

Next morning we drove north, as before, but how 
different the appearance of everything ! The road was a 
broad macadamized thoroughfare, which led down towards 
the river, and on this road was an iron track, on which 
the street cars went and came every few minutes ; and 
instead of the few small cabins and corn-patches, there 
Avere stately residences, vineyards, orchards, and gard- 
ens, until the city proper was reached. Then for hours 
I drove from point to point, over that once hilly, rough, 
and unsightly landscape ; viewing the principal places of 
interest in this great metropolis of the West. Hiring a 
guide, we drove in various directions, visited the water- 
works, the foundries, the packing-houses, the machine- 
shops, and the principal publishing houses; thence to 
the Union Depot, where nine railroads have already 
come, and others are soon coming; then to the great iron 
bridge, across the mad Missouri, up to the mouth of the 
Kaw, and across that river into the State of Kansas and 
city of Wyandotte, and back to the fair grounds about 



58 RURAL RHYMES AND OI.DEN TIMES. 

noon, where the old settlers of Jackson and her neigh- 
boring counties were assembled. 

We found those old pioneers, with many of younger 
years, congregated in small gioups under the shade-trees, 
partaking of the picnic or basket dinner, and enjoying the 
pleasures of social converse. It was a pleasant day, and all 
nature seemed to smile on those old pioneers, who had so 
long ago seen the land in the garb in which nature 
clothed it. 

Soon after dinner it was announced from the stand 
that General Doniphan, the expected orator of the day, 
was not in attendance, and that some of the old pioneers 
would entertain the assem^bled hundreds with some remi- 
niscences of the olden times. By the aid and assistance 
of my hired guide, who had accompanied me, I obtained 
a seat where I could hear. 

The Hon. Jacob Gregg, the president of the Old Set- 
tlers' Association, one of Jackson County's oldest citizens, 
one of its first sheriffs, and one who had served in the 
State L^egislature, was first introduced. He said he had 
been requested to say something about the early pioneers 
of the country, as he supposed, because he was one of 
the oldest now remaining. 

"For this," he said, "I claim no merit. Pioneers are 
like other men — no better, and I trust no worse. That 
I was an early pioneer in this county was perhaps owing 
to accident — a train of circumstances over which I had 
but little, if any, control ; and that I am here to-day, one 
amongst the very few of those early pioneers who have 
been spared by the hand of death, is owing to accident or 
a multiplicity of accidents or circumstances that not my 
hand nor any other human hand could control. I presume 
it is safe to say that of one hundred who came here as 
early as I did, ninety-nine are gone, and it is not owing 
to any superior sagacity, prudence, foresight, or energy 
on my part that I have been spared and that my com- 
panion in life has also been spared, and that we are both 
with you here to-day. It has been a long, long time 
since I first came to the county of Jackson, in 1825; but 
I have not forgotten the lives we lived in the backwoods 
here then, those woods in which the track of the Indian 



A hoosier's tramp. 59 

might be said to still remain, and from which his war- 
whoop had scarcely died away. 

" I have not forgotten those days of hog and hominy — 
especially the hominy, which these hands have many a 
time beaten. I have not forgotten our many hunting 
excursions in quest of the deer and other wild game, and 
the wild bees and their honey, dressed as we were in the 
skins of the deer. I have not forgotten the simplicity of 
pioneer life, and its sociability. I remember the old- 
fashioned preachers and the preaching of those days; 
and how the girls would walk barefooted, and carry their 
shoes and stockings in their hands till near the meeting- 
place, and would then sit down and put them on. I 
remember the country as it was before there were good 
wagon-roads, much less railroads, in the country. I 
remember when Independence was a corn-patch, and when 
Kansas City was nowhere, and the whole tract on which 
it stands could have been bought for almost a song. I 
remember the old bar-share plow, the bull-tongue, the 
shovel-plow and the carey, the scythe and the cradle, the 
reap-hook and the flail, before the age of machinery had 
come. No doubt you too remember these things. Many 
of my old, gray-headed friends have, I know, like me, 
forgotten many things that have since occurred; but 
those scenes of simplicity and happiness are and will be 
remembered until reason fails or memory is dethroned. 

" I am happy to meet so many of my old pioneer friends 
here to-day, and with you rejoice in this one more reunion. 
But I am disappointed, as all of you are, in the non-arrival 
of that old and eloquent pioneer. Gen. Doniphan, who we 
expected would entertain us with his eloquence to-day. 
And as I am no speaker, and cannot fill his place, I will 
give place to some one that can talk." 

This short speech was well received, as it deserved 
to be; and the next speaker was a stout, square-built man, 
who looked as though he might be in the prime of life, 
but who was in reality older than he appeared to be. I 
was told that it was the great Government contractor, 
or freighter, of twenty-five years ago, who for years had 
a monopoly of freighting Government stores to the Indians 
and the western forts, and was largely engaged in the 
Santa Fe transportation and trade. 



6o RURAL RHYMES AMD OLDEN TIMES. 

He announced himself as Aleck Majors, the ox-driver, 
and said he was no longer a citizen of Jackson or any 
adjoining county, and not even a citizen of the State, but 
that he had stopped on his way from New York to his 
home at Salt lyake, to spend the day with his old pioneer 
friends in Western Missouri. "And," said he, "I am 
happy to meet with so many of them. I have enjoyed 
the last few hours immensely, in conversation with first 
one and then another of the old pioneers that I knew in 
my youth. I came with my father, Benjamin Majors, to 
this county in 1825, almost as soon as the Indians had 
left it. Some of you know where Majors' old mill stood, 
on the Little Blue, fifty years ago. I was just big enough 
then to ride the near steer and drive a yoke of oxen, and 
how many thousand I have driven since I don't know. 

"In conversing with my old friends to-day, my mind 
and my memory have been refreshed and carried back, 
and I have been reminded of many things I had almost 
forgotten amid the turmoil of trade and the busy scenes 
of life; but while some of the incidents of those early 
years have in a measure faded from my memory, there 
are others that seem to be stamped upon it forever. The 
boys that I went to school with are remembered yet ; the 
boys that I played marbles with I have not forgotten; 
neither have I forgotten the girls, that were then more 
attractive in my estimation than anything else; I have 
not forgotten how social, how friendly and accommodat- 
ing those early settlers were with each other. 

"The log-rollings, the house-raisings, the corn-shuck- 
ings, the sewings, and the quiltings that were so common 
amongst them ; when the youngsters would meet together 
and work all day and dance all night ; or, if the old folks 
were too pious to allow dancing, the}'- would play Quebec 
or Old Sister Phebe. Some of you old folks have been 
there; you know how it is, or how it was; and may be 
some of you are like I am — you would like to be back 
there again. Yes, I've played Sister Phebe. I think I 
remember the first time that I ever enjoyed that good old 
play that so many ten thousands have played before and 
since. It was at my father's, at a log-rolling or house- 
raising, or something of the kind, when the boys and girls 
of the whole neighborhood were there. I remember their 



A hoosier's tramp. 6i 

names yet. One tall, good-looking young man, or bache- 
lor, was there with the girl that he afterwards married ; 
his name was Jake Gregg. How plainly I seem to see 
them now; how vividly his image and hers rise up before 
me, and I fancy I see them as they march round on the 
puncheon floor; and I can almost hear him singing — 

" 'Heigh-ho! Sister Phebe, how merry were we. 
That night we sat under the juniper-tree! 
That juniper-tree, heigh-ho ! ' 

"I do wonder if I ever shall see that old friend again ? 
Can anybody tell me whether he or his wife is here to- 
day?" 

"Yes, they are both here," was answered; and the 
aged president, Mr. Gregg, rose to his feet and received 
a hearty hand-shaking from the speaker, and Mr. Majors 
continued, "God bless you, my old friend! How happy 
I am to meet you here to-day, after so many years spent 
apart, amid the toils and turmoils of an unfriendly world. 
Do you, my old friend, call to mind the incident I have 
just mentioned?" "I remember it well'' said Gregg. 
"Thank heaven, the pleasures of memory never fail! 
thank heaven that though old age and infirmity may 
come upon us, and losses and crosses afflict us, and a 
weight of sorrow may weigh us down, in memory we can 
go back to the happy days of youth and live over again 
the brighter scenes of early life; and though adversity, 
with frowning features may stare us in the face, we can 
shut our eyes and call up in memory the days of greater 
prosperity and live them over again ! And now, before 
I sit down, let me say to the ladies, that though I live at 
Salt I^ake among the Mormons, I have but one wife — 
the one I found in the good old county of Jackson — and 
if I should unfortunately lose that one and desire another, 
I think I would certainly come back here to look for her." 

Some other short speeches were made, pertinent and 
to the point; and it was announced from the stand that 
the poet of Van Buren Township would read a poem of 
old times and old pioneers. 

I had been curious to see my old friend of the cabin, 
but had not as yet got a sight of him. He came forward, 
as I thought, with the same awkward manner he had in 



62 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

his youth, but no longer a boy in appearance. Some- 
what bent with age and with hair almost as white as the 
snow, he unrolled his manuscript. The secretary ap- 
pealed to the audience for order and quiet, as the reader's 
voice was not of the strongest. I give the poem as it 
appeared next morning in the Kansas City Times, with- 
out any comment of my own : 

TALK TO THE SETTLERS OF JACKSON, CLAY, CASS' 
AND PLATTE. 

'Tis almost half a hundred years 
Since you and I, old pioneers, 

With aspirations free, 
A home within this region sought ; 
But who of us then dreamed or thought 
To see the many changes wrought, 

That we have lived to see? 

From different countries then we came. 
Our aims, our objects all the same — 

A home in this far West. 
A cabin here and there was found. 
Perhaps a little spot of ground 
Enclosed and cleared, while all around 

In nature's garb was dressed. 

Here, then, we saw the groves of green, 
Where woodman's axe had never been — 

The spreading prairies too. 
Within those groves, so dense and dark, 
Was heard the squirrel's saucy bark ; 
The bounding stag was but the mark 

To prove the rifle true. 

But all is changed. The cabin's gone ; 
The clapboard roof with weight-poles on, 

The rough-hewn puncheon-floor. 
The chimneys made of stick and clay. 
Are seen no more — gone to decay. 
The men that built them, where are they? 

I need not ask you more. 

They're gone, but they're remembered yet. 
Those cabin homes we can't forget, 
Although we're growing old. 



A hoosier's tramp. • 63 

Fond memory still the spot reveres — 
The cabin homes of youthful years, 
Where, with compatriot pioneers. 
We pleasures had untold; 

The dense and tangled woodland too. 
The groves we often wandered through, 

No longer now are there. 
The prairie, with its sward of green 
And flowerets wild, no more is seen; 
But farms, with dusty lanes between. 

Are seen where once they were. 

Large towns and villages arise, 
And steeples point toward the skies, 

Where all was desert then; 
And Nature's scenes have given place 
To those of Art; the hunter's chase 
Has yielded to the scrambling race 

Of speculating men. 

The very spot on which we stand — 
This city, so superb and grand — 

How did we see it then? 
How wild was that forbidding scene? 
The hills, with gorges thrown between, 
As though by nature it had been 

Made for a panther's den. 

Those hills have since been leveled down. 
The gorges filled, the streets of town 

In all directions range. 
The labors of ten thousand hands. 
The working-men from thousand lands, 
The energy that wealth commands, 

Have wrought the wondrous change. 

Ah ! what a change the pioneer, 
In forty years, has witnessed here ! 

And things are changing still. 
Those streets and alleys then were not; 
Its greatest thoroughfare was — what? 
A ground-hog's walk, or 'possum- trot, 

Which led from hill to hill. 



64 RURAIv RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

Ah, yes! my friends, old pioneers, 
Full many a change within those years 

The country's undergone. 
How many changes it's passed through ! 
And we, old friends, are changing too. 
There's been a change in me and you, 

And still that change goes on. 

And when we think upon the past. 
Those friends whose lot with us was cast 

On this once wild frontier. 
And pass them all in brief review. 
As oftentimes in thought we do — 
Alas! alas! how very few 

Are there remaining here ! 

A few more years will come and go, 
As other years have done, you know. 

And then — ah, yes ! what then ? 
The world will still be moving on ; 
But we, whose cheeks are growing wan. 
Will not be here — we'll all be gone 

From out the ranks of men. 

Our places will be vacant here. 
And of the last old pioneer 

The land will be bereft. 
The places which we here have filled. 
The fields which we have cleared and tilled. 
Our barns, though empty, or though filled, 

To others will be left. 

But ere we pass to that far bourne 
From which no traveler can return. 

We meet, old pioneers; 
The few of us who yet remain. 
And we who here have met, would fain 
Now clasp those friendly hands again 

We clasped in by-gone 5^ears. 

In glad reunion now we meet. 
Each other once again to greet 
And conversation hold ; 



A hoosikr's tramp, 65 

And while we socially to-day 
A few brief hours may while away, 
L,et us, although our heads are gray, 
Forget that we are old. 

Ivet us go back — in memory go — 
Back to the scenes of long ago. 

When we were blithe and young; 
When hope and expectation bright 
Were buoyant and our hearts were light, 
And Fancy, that delusive sprite, 

Her siren sonnets sung. 

And as we join in friendly chat, 
We'll speak of this, and talk of that, 

And of the many things 
That have occurred within the land 
Since first the little squatter band 
Came to this country, now so grand! 

Before 'twas ruled by rings. 

'Tis natural that we should think, 
While standing on the river's brink. 

How wide the stream has grown ! 
We saw it when 'twas but a rill. 
Just bursting from the sunny hill; 
And now its surging waters fill 

A channel broad, unknown. 

'Tis natural, and proper too, 
That we compare the old and new. 

The present with the past, 
And speak of those old-fogy ways 
In which we passed our younger days; 
Then of the many new displays 

That crowd upon us fast. 

We little knew of railioads then, 

Nor dreamed of that new period when 

We'd drive the iron horse ; 
And 'twould have made the gravest laugh, 
Had he been told but only half 
The wonders of the telegraph, 

Then in the brain of Morse. 



66 RURAI. RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

We did not have machinery then 

To sow and reap and thresh the grain, 

But all was done by hand; 
And those old-fashioned implements 
Have long ago been banished hence, 
Or rusting lie beside the fence — 

No longer in demand. 

Yes, there are grown-up men, I trow, 
Who never saw a bull-tongue plow, 

A flail, or reaping-hook; 
^nd who could not describe, j^ou know, 
A swingling-knife or board, although 
Their mothers used them long ago, 

And lessons on them took. 

The young man now would be amused 
To see some things his father used — 

Some things he ne'er has seen ; 
The way in which we cleaned our wheat. 
When two strong men with blanket-sheet, 
Would winnow out the chaff and cheat. 
And twice or thrice the thing repeat, 

Until the grain was clean. 

The single-shovel plow and hoe. 

To clean out weeds, was all the show — 

We knew no better ways ; 
But now our sons would laugh to scorn 
Such poky ways of making corn. 
And bless the stars that they were born 

In more enlightened days. 

They say the world is wiser grown; 
They've got the speaking talkaphone — 

Talks twenty miles or more — 
And preachers now may preaoh and pray 
To congregations miles away ; 
And many other things, they say. 

We never had before. 

And yet I do not know but what 
The pioneer enjoyed his lot. 
And lived as much at ease 



A HOOSIER'S tramp. 67 

As men in these enlightened days, 
With all their strange new-fangled ways, 
That wealth and fashion now displays 
The mind of man to please. 

'Tis true, we did not live as fast, 
But socially our time was passed, 

Although our homes were mean. 
Our neighbors then were neighbors true. 
And every man his neighbor knew. 
Although those neighbors might be few. 

And sometimes far between. 

Ah, yes ! old pioneers, I trow 

The world was brighter then than now 

To us gray-headed ones ; 
Hope pointed us beyond the vale. 
And whispered us a fairy tale 
Of coming pleasures, ne'er to fail 

Through all the shining suns. 

Ambition, too, with smile so soft, 
Was pointing us to seats aloft, 

Where fame and honors last. 
We had not learned what now we know — 
The higher up the mount we go 
The storms of life still fiercer blow, 

And colder is the blast. 

That though we reach the mountain's top. 
Fruition find of every hope, 

Or wear the victor's crown ; 
Though far above the clouds we tread — 
There's other clouds still overhead, 
And on the mind there is the dread — 

The dread of coming down. 

Ah, yes ! old settlers, one and all, 
Whatever may us yet befall. 

We will not — can't forget 
The simple, plain, old-fashioned plan — 
The routes in which our fathers ran, 
Before the age of steam began 

To run the world in debt. 



68 RURAL RHYMES AND OI.DEN TIMES. 

And while we talk upon the past, 
Of those who are dropping off so fast, 

And those already gone, 
It may not be, my friends, amiss 
For each of us to think of this : 
The curtain of forgetfulness 

Will soon be round us drawn. 

And though in glad reunion we 
Have met to-day, perhaps 'twill be 

A day of taking leave ; 
And we, who oft have met before, 
And parted in the days of yore — 
Will part, perhaps, to meet no more, 

When we shall part this eve. 

The mind goes back through all the years. 
We call to mind the pioneers — 

Those bold and hardy men. 
We pass them in the mind's review — 
The many dead, the living few — 
Those unpretending farmers who 

Were our compatriots then. 

Men who of toil were not afraid, 
Men who the early history made 

Of this now famous land ; 
The men who, ere the Mormons came 
This heritage so fair to claim. 
Were here, prepared through flood and flame 

Those claimants to withstand. 

Sam Lucas, Boggs and Swearingen, 
The Nolands and the Fristoes then. 

The Greggs and Owens too ; 
The Davises and the Flournoys, 
The Kings, the Staytons and McCoys, 
And Dealy, with his twenty boys — 

All these and more we knew. 

The Wilsons and the Adamses, 
The Irvings and the Lewises, 
The Webbs and the Fitzhughs, 



A hoosie;r'vS tramp. 69 

The Powells and the Harrises, 
The Walkers and the Burrisses, 
The Bakers and the Savages, 

The Hickmans, Woods and Pughs. 

Yes, some of these were noted men, 
Well-known and much respected then, 

Although their coats were plain; 
And when in office they were placed. 
They proved themselves not double-faced, 
The people's trust was not misplaced — 

We need such men again. 

We had our courts of justice then — 
A terror to dishonest men, 

Who feared the halter's drop. 
Judge Ryland then the courts could hold, 
In full a dozen counties told, 
Decide the cases manifold, 

And keep with business up. 

We had our lawyers, too, but they. 
Or nearly all, have passed away — 
We looked for one of them to-day, 

A brave and fluent man — 
But we are disappointed sore; 
That man of fame and legal lore, 
Perhaps we'll never see here more — 

Brave Colonel Doniphan. 

Where now are all his old compeers. 
The lawj'ers 'mongst the pioneers — 

Charles French, and Hicks and Young? 
Where now are both the Recces gone? 
And where is Hovey — noisy one? 
And where is David Atchison, 

The man of fiery tongue? 

They're gone ! you say 'tis ever thus ; 
The men of note are leaving us — 

The men of greatest heft. 
But when we pause and look around, 
A few whose heads are 'bove the ground, 
A few perhaps may yet be found — 

Sawyer and Woodson's left. 



70 RURAI, RHYMES AND OI.DEN TIMKS. 

And then we had our preachers, too, 
And some of them, I think, you knew, 

And knew their Christian walk. 
And who of you that ever heard 
Joab Powell preach the word 
But had his better feelings stirred 

By plain and simple talk? 

McKinney, Ferrill, Nelson too, 
Stayton, Warder and Fitzhugh, 

Tillery, Rice and Hill. 
And there was Elder Kavanaugh; 
And any one that ever saw 
Old Jimmy Savage, sure can draw 

A picture of him still. 

Ah, yes ! the preachers of those days 
Were noted for their simple ways, 

And some for style uncouth; 
But they are gone ; they all are dead ; 
Another class are in their stead, 
Much better paid and better read; 

But have they more of truth? 

But time would fail to speak of all 
The changes that our minds recall 

Upon life's shifting waves; 
And soon those shifting waves will bear 
The last old pioneer to where 
His lost and loved companions are 

lyow in their silent graves. 

But ere, my friends, we hence embark, 
We fain would place some lasting mark 

Upon this mundane shore; 
A mark the traveler may see 
In coming years, and know that we 
Have lived and passed the road that he 

May then be passing o'er. 

When death's dark curtain shall be drawn. 
And we old pioneers are gone, 
Let truthful history tell 



A HOOSIER S TRAMP, 7 1 

To far posterity the tale, 
As down the stream of Time thej^ sail, 
How we with motto, "Never Fail," 
Came here, and what befell. 

I^et history then, impartial, state 
The incidents of early date ; 

And that it so may do, 
lyet pioneers of every age 
In this important work engage, 
And each of them produce his page — ' 

A page of history true. 

The incidents of early years, 
Known only to the pioneers, 

With them will soon be lost, 
Unless before they hither go, 
Those incidents are stated so 
Posterity the facts may know, 

When we the stream have crossed. 

After the speaking was over, I introduced myself to 
the gray-haired poet, and found that he remembered my 
night's lodging with him, and several of the incidents; 
said he recollected my making the memorandum the 
next morning, and of our lonely ride through the prairie ; 
passing Centre Knob, and getting lost. I asked him about 
the new beginner across the branch, and he replied : 

"He is yet living, like me, in the decline of life; has 
had his 'ups and downs,' and more 'downs' than 'ups.' 
lyike me, he is a widower, having lost two wives and some 
of his children. His health was impaired in the sei'vice 
during the Rebellion, but he is in the enjoyment of a 
pension that will keep him comfortably through life's 
evening." 

I remarked that I supposed the Government land in 
that half a township was all taken up now. 

"Yes, indeed," said he; "and instead of only five 
families on it, and half a dozen children of school age, 
there are three school districts, with their school-houses, 
and three churches, besides the village of Strasburg. Not 
only that township," said he, "has been all bought long 
ago, but the condemned land, not worth surveying once, 
has been bought, every acre of it, and is nearly all under 



72 RURAL liHYMES AND OI.DKN TIMES. 

fence, and instead of a voting population of 200, the 
county has over 5,000." 

Next morning I left for Kansas, and in eight weeks 
returned to my home with restored health, and a better 
opinion of Missouri and Kansas than I had before I set out. 



''IS THE WORLD ANY WORSEN' 



Uncle Ben and Charley. — Dialogue. 

Charley. — Well, Uncle Ben, what is your opinion on 
the question for debate to-morrow night? Is the world 
growing any worse? 

Uncle Ben. — Well, I can't sa}^ ; but I suppose the world, 
on an average, is pretty much the same as it was a hun- 
dred years ago. In some respects changed, but still the 
same old world. 

Charley. — Yes, but the people are not the same ; and 
the question, I suppose, is, whether they are better or 
worse. 

Ben. — It is said that human nature is the same the 
world over, and in every age ; and I suppose that this is 
no better, and no worse, now than a thousand years ago. 
Circumstances change, and they may, perhaps, be more 
or less favorable for the development of the good or bad 
in human nature than formerly ; while other circum- 
stances may enable us to see and to realize the good and 
evil tendencies and consequences more plainly now than 
we did then. Ever since I can recollect, it has been said 
that the olden times were better then than the present ; 
and I suppose the same thing was said in Solomon's day, 
for he says in the book of Ecclesiastes : "Say not what 
is the cause that the former days were better than these, 
for thou dost not inquire wisely concerning these things." 
As much as to say, that it was not the case. And again 
he says : "The thing that hath been, it is that that shall 
be ; and that which is done, is that which shall be done; 
and there is no new thing under the sun." And he says 
again : "There is no remembrance of former things," 



IS THK WORI,D ANY WORSE;.'' 73 

intimating that we are liable to forget how bad the former 
times were; and from the whole of his writings, I aoi 
inclined to think that mankind has not changed much 
since his day. The same evils we complain of, he com- 
plained of, and describes them better than we can. 

Charley. —But, Uncle Ben, was there ever before such 
a rage for speculation, swindling, public plunder, and 
crime in general as now, when swindling and public 
plundering is general all over the land, and railroad and 
other monopolies are grinding the laboring classes to 
death, and the smartest man is the one that can get his 
hand the deepest into the public purse and gobble up 
the biggest slice of the public land? Was it always so, 
or was it so in your younger days? 

Ben. — -Well, in my boyhood we had no railroads to 
plunder and swindle us, and very few corporations of any 
kind ; and those few were so far off as to be out of sight. 
We did not read the newspapers, and hear of every wicked 
thing that transpired then, as we do now ; and hence, I 
say, we did not see or perceive the evil consequences of 
a vicious human nature then as we do now ; though there 
were no railroads and but few banking corporations to 
gobble up the public domain and put their hands into the 
national purse, there were others who attempted to, and 
perhaps did, play the same game that those corporations 
and sharks have since played; avarice has been avarice 
always, and there never has been a time when some indi- 
vidual or company was not ready to grind the poor labor- 
ing classes and fleece the public. As early as 1788, a 
Mr. John L/ivingston and others formed themselves into 
a company to fleece the Indians and the people of New 
York out of more than half the lands of that great State. 
They entered into a contract with the Six Nations to 
lease the lands of nearly all Western New York for 999 
years, for an annual rent of $3,500; but the Legislature 
of New York interfered in the matter, and Governor 
Clinton, by proclamation, forbade any person to occupy 
any part of the territory under that lease, and the scheme 
was broken up. 

Charley. — That shows that Ivivingston and his com- 
pany wasn't smart. If they had done as modern specu- 
lators do, they would have given the members of the 



74 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

lyCgislature and Governor Clinton a share in the loaf; 
and then it might have been different, you know. 

Ben. — Perhaps so ; but lyivingston's company may 
have been more grasping than modern ones, and wanted 
all the profits themselves ; and perhaps the I^egislature 
had a scheme of their own to gobble up the land, and 
was not willing to divide with Livingston and his com- 
pany ; at any rate, the scheme failed. Andagain in 1795 
or '96, another land-jobbing scheme was concocted to 
gobble up the entire State of Michigan. This was by 
Messrs. Randall, Whitney, and some other Indian traders. 
They came to Congress with their scheme, and did offer 
some members an interest in it if they would vote for it. 
It so happened, however, that they made the offer to at 
least one member who was honest enough to expose the 
whole thing before it came up for action ; and then those 
who might have favored it did not dare do so. I am 
disposed to think, though, that some of them would have 
gone into it if there had been a prospect of success and 
no danger of exposure. The Indians, however, in both 
cases lost their lands in the end ; and you must admit 
that the white man's monopoly has been gobbling up 
their lands for 200 years or more. And as I am so often 
giving talks and tales of olden times, I will show you a 
long talk of the Oneida Indians, sent by their chiefs to 
the Legislature of New York, in relation to that lease of 
their lands to Livingston & Company, and as boys like 
to read things in rhyme better than in plain prose, and 
as Indian talks are always poetical, I change the words a 
little so as to rhyme, preserving the substance and sense 
the same. 

TALK OF THE ONEIDA INDIANS, SENT BY THEIR 

CHIEFS TO THE LEGISLATURE OF 

NEW YORK, IN 1788. 

Brothers, sachems, chiefs, and great men, 

Who sit round the great council fire 
Of our brothers, the people and State of New York, 

Your attention we ask and desire; 
Brothers, white brothers, we thus far had come 

To meet at your great council fire; 



IS THE WORLD ANY WORSE? 75 

But the roads are now bad, and a prospect for worse 

Induces us home to retire. 
Brothers, — we speak now in writing, — your allies we are ; 

A free people we ever have been; 
Our chiefs have enjoined us to speak thus to you — 

Kars open, and take our words in : 

Brothers, white men, in your late and long war 

With the people across the great deep. 
At a time when thick darkness had covered the land, 

The Oneidas were not then asleep. 
Uninvited we took up the hatchet for you. 

Stepped forth in our brothers' defense ; 
We fought side by side ; your friends we then were. 

And friends we have been ever since ; 
Our blood flowed together, the bones of our men 

Were mingled with yours in the grave ; 
You grateful appeared for what we had done. 

And repeated assurances gave. 
That should the Great Spirit ever give you success, 

Your Indian friends should rejoice ; 
The result of the war was propitious to you. 

And we returned to the home of our choice. 

Desolation and ruin the land had o'erspread ; 

Our towns and our fields were a waste ; 
We rejoiced, however, that we could return; 

That the fruits of a peace we could taste. 
We pleased ourselves with the^hope that in peace 

We could quietly rest on our shores — 
A home for which we had fought and had bled. 

In a cause that was common with yours. 

While flattering ourselves with these prospects and 
thoughts, 

lyooking forward with hope and desire, 
Invitation we had to meet with your chiefs 

At Herkimer's great council fire. 

We were pleased— we were glad — and quickly set out 

To meet them, of nothing afraid — 
Expecting that they our wants would supply. 

And make good the assurances made. 



76 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES- 

The assurances given; so oftentimes made, 

With a grave and truthful-like voice, 
That when from the war to our homes we returned. 

Our hearts should be made to rejoice. 
The chiefs who then met us no doubt recollect 

Our disappointment, so sad and so sore, 
When they told us they came to purchase our land; 

No other commission they bore. 

Brothers, 'tis needless to mention in this 

The speeches we then and there made. 
You can not forget them — you've written them down 

In books whose words never fade. 
Your chiefs may remember how loth we then were 

To enter on treaties of trade ; 
They may also remember the means we then took 

That treaty and sale to evade. 
By proposing to lease a part for a time; 

(To sell we were not then inclined.) 
The contempt with which that offer was met 

Is doubtless still fresh in their mind. 
If memory has failed them, 'tis not so with us; 

Those things we remember full well. 
In compliance, at last, with their urgent request, 

We consented to sell, and did sell; 
In consequence, though, of a most solemn pledge. 

By our greatest and chief sachem given, 
That this was the last demand for our lands. 

And that we should no further be driven. 

We sold you a part of our lands and our homes, 

And the homes of our fathers before ; 
But in this we now are resolved and determined, — 

That we never will sell any more. 
The experience of all the tribes, south and east, 

Has fully convinced us of late. 
If we their example shall follow, that we 

Will soon — very soon — share their fate. 
We wish that our children, and grandchildren too, 

A living in comfort may draw 
From the land the Great Spirit our forefathers gave, 

Ere white men the land ever saw. 



IS THE WORLD ANY WORSE? 77 

We therefore determined to lease them ; and friends* 

In different parts of the land, 
Having learned our desire — being willing that we 

Should continue a national band — 
Have offered to take our lands upon lease, 

And pay us a generous rent — 
A rent upon which our children can live; 

And to this the Oneidas consent. 
We were loth to affront you again, as we did. 

By an offer to lease them to you, 
And therefore agreed to proposals from friends, 

And trust they will full justice do. 

Brothers, since we have been thus on the road, 

A lying, bad bird has passed by ; 
It has reached, as we hear, your great council fire. 

And told you — -yes, told you a lie: 
That we have not leased our lands, as we say. 

Brothers, that tale is not true; 
And we hope you will treat it as false, which it is; 

We've leased them, but not unto you. 

Brothers and chiefs, we are surprised very much 

To hear you are angry of late. 
Because others have taken a thing which your chiefs 

Thought beneath them, the nation, or State; 
But, BROTHERS, we are more surprised yet to learn 

You are claiming a right never known — 
The right to control the disposal of lands 

You acknowledge to be all our own. 
As much as the game that we take in the chase; 

Why, then, let us ask, do you say 
That the Indians shall not dispose of them just 

As we please, without your yea or nay? 
If one of our braves to your market should go 

With fur skins, you might then just as well 
Point out him a buyer, and say to him thus : 

" To no other man can you sell.'' 

Brothers, we wish 3'ou'd consider it well; 
Do us justice, and do not refuse ; 

••^lyivingston & Company. 



78 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

We have leased our whole country, excepting what we 

Have reserved for the tribe still to use. 
We doubt not the people will pay us the rent, 

The rent they agreed they would pay. 
If you can encourage its settlement, do ; 

This is all that we now have to say. 

Witness: Jacob Reed, Secretary. 

his 

Peter B. Ten Broeck, Peter X Salekarenghis. 

mark 
his 

George Stinson, Jr. Daniel X Segoaneghsriser. 

mark 

his 

Hendrick X Sahonwate. 

mark 

Personally appeared before me the above subscribers, 
and acknowledged the foregoing instrument to be their 
voluntary act and deed. 

Acknowledged before me, this 12th day of March, 
1788. Henry I. V. Renssellaer, 

One of the Judges of the Inferior Court of the County 
of Columbia. 

Charley. — A pretty good talk, the way you have fixed 
it up ; but do you think it's a genuine Indian talk, or was 
it some of L,ivingston's company got it up for them? 

Ben. — I should not wonder if Livingston & Company 
were at the bottom of it ; but you see it is subscribed to 
by the Indian chiefs and authenticated by a judge's cer- 
tificate, which goes to show that men at that day could 
pull the wires as well as they can now, when somebody 
is to be swindled. 

Charley. — But do you think it means the same the 
way you've rhymed it that it did originally? 

Ben. — Yes, I think so. 

Charley. — Well, Peter Pinkard is going to speak Pat- 
rick Henry's great lyiberty or Death speech at the exhibi- 
tion, and if j^ou'll just change it into rhyme as you did the 
Indians' talk, I'll speak it too, and leave it to the teacher 
to say whether it's the same old speech or another one. 

Ben. — Very well; that's a talk of the olden time, and 
if you will agree to study it well and speak it properly, 
I'll fix it up for you. 

Charley. — I'll do that, certain. 



- IS THE WORLD ANY WORSE? 79 

"GTVE ME LIBERTY, OR GIVE ME DEATH!" 

I know it is natural for man to indulge 

In illusions that hope often brings 
To close his eyes against truth, and to heed 

The song that the false siren sings ; 
But is it the part of the wise, I would ask, 

Who are struggling for freedom and life, 
To list to the charm that will transform to beasts — 

To surrender the struggle and strife? 
Are we now disposed of that number to be. 

Who, though having eyes, refuse to discern 
The danger before them, and turn a deaf ear 

To their greatest and grandest concern? 

For my part, whatever of anguish may come. 

Whatever of grief it may cost, 
I am willing, desirous, to kaow the whole truth; 

To know and prepare for the worst. 
I have but one lamp my footsteps to guide — 

'Tis experience ; to that I hold fast. 
There is no better way of the future to judge 

Than to look at the things of the past; 
And judging of coming events by the past, 

I would wish and would ask now to know 
What things we have seen in the ten years that's passed, 

That warrant our hoping on so ? 

What have gentlemen seen or what see they now, 

In the conduct of those who bear rule 
In the British dominion, that solaces tliem. 

While they call on us here to " keep cool " ? 
Say, is it the bland and insidious smile 

That late our petitions received ? 
Ah ! trust not to it ; a snare it will prove — 

IvCt freemen be never deceived ! 
Take heed to yourselves, and be not entrapped 

Nor betrayed by a Judas's kiss ; 
When gracious receptions and speeches you hear. 

Then ask yourselves questions like this: 
How gracious receptions and speeches compare 

With preparations so war-like and grand ; 



8o RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

Preparations that cover our waters with ships, 

And darken with soldiers our land? 
Are large fleets of ships and armies of men 

Necessary to bring about love, 
To reconcile friends that have once been estranged? 

'Tis the hawk reconciling the dove. 
Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be 

Reconciled to our mother and friend 
That force and coercion can alone bring us back 

On the arm of King George to depend? 

L<et us not be deceived, nor deceive ourselves thus — 

All these are the implements dire 
Of war and coercion — last cruel resort 

Of kings with ambitious desire. 
I ask you what means this martial array, 

If its purpose be not to force us 
And bring to submission? can any assign 

Any other for threatening thus? 
Has Britain, Great Britain, an enemy here, 

In this part of the great western world, 
That is calling for all of the navies we see, 

And those armies with banners unfurled? 
No, no, she has none; they are meant but for us 

(Some gentlemen think I am wrong) — 
They are sent here to rivet and bind upon us 

The chains they've been forging so long. 

And what have we here to oppose them ? I ask ; 

Shall we reason and argument try? 
We've tried them — been trying for long, tedious years ; 

Have we anything new to apply ? 
Nothing ; no, nothing ; that subject so grave 

We have held up again and again ; 
We have turned it and showed it in every light, 

But in vain — it has all been in vain. 
Shall we resort to entreaty, and humble ourselves 

As suppliants ever so low ? 
What terms shall we try that have not been employed 

And exhausted in days long ago ? 

lyCt us no longer trust or deceive ourselves, sir. 
As we've done in the days that are gone ; 



IS THE WORLD " ANY WORSE ? 8 

We've done everything that we could to avert 

The storm that is fast coming on. 
Supplication, petition, remonstrance, we've tried. 

And tried them so often in vain ; 
Prostrated ourselves at His Majesty's throne, 

And implored him again and again. 

Yes, begged him, most earnestly begged him, to stay 

His ministers' tyrannic hands ; 
The acts of a tyrannic parliament too, 

In relation to these loyal lands. 
Our petitions have often been slighted, you know ; 

Remonstrance was followed by violence 
Or added insult, and all of our prayers 

Were met with contempt, or with silence; 
We also were spurned with contempt, as it were. 

From the foot of His Majesty's throne ; 
He too has been deaf to the voice of prayer, 

And leaves us to struggle alone. 

After all of these things, it were vain now to hope 
That light will spring out of the gloom ; 

That reconciliation and peace will succeed — 
For hope there is no longer room. 

If we wish to be free ; if we wish to preserve. 

Inviolate still, and safe from the strong, 
Those dearest of rights, for which we contend. 

And have been contending so long ; 
If we do not mean to abandon the cause 

And the struggle in which we're engaged ; 
If we do not intend the desertion of friends, 

And the faith unto them we have pledged ; 
If we wish for those things, and do not intend 

To relinquish an object so dear. 
We must fight, we must fight, I repeat, we must fight ! 

The appeal unto arms is now near ; 
An appeal unto arms and the great God of hosts 

Is all that is left us, I trow. 
They say we are weak and unable to cope 

With a power like Great Britain now; 
But when will we ever be stronger ? I ask ; 

Will it be the next week, or next year ? 

—6— 



82 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

Will it be when we are disarmed, and a guard 

Is stationed in every house here? 
By irresolution shall we gather strength, 

Or the means of existence acquire 
By lying supinely and hugging false hopes, 

And the phantoms that such hopes inspire ? 

Ah, no ! we're not weak, if we make the right use 

Of the means that kind nature has given ; 
The great God of nature has given us space 

From which we can never be driven. 
Three millions of people, in holy cause armed — 

Of right and of freedom forever — 
In such a grand country as we here possess. 

Can never be canquered ; no, never! 

But we shall not fight all our battles alone ; 

There's a just, holy God, who presides, 
Who governs the actions of nations and men. 

And He'll raise us up friends on all sides ; 
That God and those friends our efforts will aid — 

The battle's not all to the strong ; 
But 'tis to the vigilant, active, and brave, 

Who contend for the right against wrong. 

In addition to this, no choice have we left ; 
If base enough now to desire. 

Too late it is now to halt and turn back ; 
Too late it is now to retire. 

No way of retreating is left us, I trow. 
Except to submit and be slaves; 

Your chains are fast forging — they're forged even now- 
Being borne across the salt waves. 

On the fair plain of Boston they are clanking to-day— 

Their clanking is heard here by some ; 
Inevitable now is the war, and I say. 

Let it come! I repeat, LET iT come ! ' 

'Tis vain — worse than vain — to extenuate now ; 

Gentlemen may cry peace, even peace ; 
But peace there is none ; the war is begun ! 

And God only knows when 'twill cease. , • 



THE FALL OF THE OLD MILL. 83 

The next gale that sweeps from the north States may- 
bring 

The clashing of resounding arms ; 
Why stand we here idle ? Our brothers are there, 

On the field, with its hostile alarms ; 
What is it that gentlemen wish or desire ? 

What is it they'd have, if they could ? 
Is life now so dear that they prize it still higher 

Than everything else that is good? 

Is peace so ecstatic and sweet unto them 

They would purchase, at such a great cost, 
Chains, bondage, and slavery ? Forbid it, O God, 

Ere freedom and liberty's lost ! 
I know not, I care not, what others may do. 

Or what they may ask, or bequeath ; 
But now, as for me, let me have liberty. 

Or, failing in that, GIVE ME death. 



THE FALL OF THE OLD MILL. 

And has it fallen — that old mill — 

Upon the Lost Creek shore ? 
That mossy wheel, is it now still, 

And will it turn no more ? 
The history of that fallen mill, 

Its history who will write ? 
Its early deeds, perhaps they will 

Be some day brought to light ; 
Its incidents, what e'er they were, 

Few of the living know. 
They say my grandsire built it there 

In years long, long ago. 
When Tennessee was first a State, 

. Within its wooded wild. 
In seventeen hundred ninety-eight. 

My father then a child. 
The builder then was in his youth — 

He long has passed away. 
And I, his grandson, now forsooth 

Am old, and worn, and gray. 



84 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

The Indian war-whoop scarce had died 

Upon the hills around, 
When settlers came from far and wide 

And had their hoe-cakes ground. 
Those ancient settlers, where are they? 

I cannot tell you where, 
lyong time ago they went away, 

And left the old mill there. 
Children were born, grew old, and died 

In sight of that old mill ; 
Their bones are lying side by side 

Above it on the hill, 
And yet, through all those changing years. 

In every changing scene. 
In peace and war, and blood and tears — 

And many such have been — 
The old mill-wheel went round and round. 

The stone went faster still ; 
And still the staff of life was ground 

By that old water-mill. 

The last old pioneer had gone, 

For either woe or weal ; 
The never-failing stream flowed on, 

That turned that old mill-wheel. 
The sons and daughters of the one 

Who builded it were dead. 
Save only one surviving son, 

Far in the West, 'twas said. 
Some children's children still were there; 

Some few, but ah! still more 
Reposing in the grave-yard where 

The sire had gone before; 
And many, many more beside 

In distant lands away 
Are scattered far and severed wide, 

And have been many a day; 
And of that number I am one. 

In life's cold winter chill, 
And from life's far-off setting sun 

lyook back to that old mill. 



THE FALI. OF THE OLD MILL. 85 

How often in my dreams I've seen — 

Since wandering from there — 
That mill, the cedar grove so green, 

And fields as once the}^ were; 
And oftentimes will memory tell 

The story o'er and o'er, 
Of what a wayward boy befell 

Upon that rocky shore. 

Though memory now is feeble grown 

And recollections fail, 
They bring me back the years long flown 

And tell the oft-told tale; 
They point me out the narrow track 

Across the vale and hill. 
O'er which, upon Old Sorrel's back, 

I rode to that old mill. 

My cousins and my playmates gone 

They often bring to view; 
As when we sailed upon the pond 

In the old dug-out canoe. 
But I had wandered far away. 

And they in death asleep; 
While, other boys, as wild as we, 

Sailed on the mill-pond deep. 

Years passed; the waters in the race 

Flowed on, and onward still, 
While others came to take the place 

Of those who ran the mill. 
For eighty years — how long a time 

Since first its work began ! 
The generations came and went. 

And still the old mill ran ; 
That never-failing stream supplied 

The needed motive power 
That through those many years supplied 

The land with meal and flour. 

But was that mill the same, you ask. 
Through all those changing years — 

Was it the same in every part — 
It's stones and running-gears ? 



86 RURAi, rhyme;s and oldkn timks. 

Ah, no! it underwent repairs, 

As everything must do; 
And soon or late its every part 

Gave place to something new. 

You've heard, perhaps, of that old knife, 

In use for five decades, 
Which half a dozen handles had 

And twice as many blades; 
And yet it was the same old knife. 

The man contended strong; 
The same old knife his father had 

And he had used so long. 
And so it was with that old mill, 

Though oftentimes repaired; 
Though millers came and millers went, 

The old mill still was spared. 

For eighteen years or more it ground 

The bread I lived upon. 
And then I left my native place, 

And forty years were gone; 
And when those forty years were passed, 

Returned to that old mill ; 
It looked, it seemed almost the same. 

And it was grinding still. 

I asked: "Is this the same old mill 
My grandsire built, 3^ou know — 

The same old mill I left in youth, 
Near forty years ago?" 

An answer came: "The same old mill. 

As much as you're the same 
Descendant of its builder; you. 

Who answer to his name. 
You say you are the self-same youth 

Of eighteen years of age 
Who left this stream so long ago, 

lyife's battle-storm to wage; 
What part of that then youthful frame, 

Where lyife's machinery ran — 
What part have you brought back with you. 

You old, gray-headed man ? 



THE PALL OF THE OLD MILL. 87 

Your ancient comrades know you not ; 

They cannot recognize 
The boy of forty years ago 

In that old time-worn guise." 

I was convinced ; I felt the truth ; 

I could not answer nay ; 
I was, and yet was not, the same 

Bright boy that went away, 
lyike that old mill, my every part 

Had undergone a change ; 
And though I thought myself the same^ 

To others I was strange. 

They tell us — men of science say 

That every seven years 
The tissues of the body change, 

And a new man appears ; 
And 3'et it is the same old man, 

As everybody knows. 
The oftener that the frame's renewed. 

The older still it grows ; 
Until at last, like that old mill, 

Repairs are at an end — 
It fails, it sinks, and with the dust 

Its every part will blend. 

And yet 'twill live ! that old mill lives 

Within my memory yet ; 
And He who gave our bodies lives — 

No part will He forget. 
He'll raise them up more glorious 

Than e'er they were before ; 
And they no more repairs will need 

Upon that other shore. 



RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

OLD AND NEW FASHIONED SCHOOLS. 



Dialogue — Ben and Charley. 

Charley. — Uncle Ben, I want you to help me with my 
composition for the examination next week. 

U7icle Ben.—N^ry well; what is it? Let me see it. 

Charley. — I have not decided that yet. You can write 
me one on any subject you please. 

Uncle ben. — That's another thing, Charley. I have 
not promised to write one of my own for you to claim and 
read as yours ; but only to help you over the hard places, 
while you are hoeing your own row. The object of your 
teacher in setting you to write compositions is to teach 
you to express your thoughts on paper. But what good 
would it do you to read over as your own what I had 
written, a part of which you might not understand ? 

Charley. — It would do this much good, Uncle Ben : 
I would have the name of reading the best composition 
in the school, and that is what each one is striving for. 

Uncle Ben. — L/Ct me tell you, Charley, it will do you 
no good to get that name, or anything else, by false pre- 
tenses. You should act the truth, as well as speak the 
truth ; and some day you will receive a better reward 
than what you are seeking now — a name for the best 
essay. 

Charley. — But, Uncle Ben, did you never get anybody 
to write out your compositions when you were a boy at 
school, like I am, and hadn't learned how to write them 
yourself? 

Uncle Be7i. — No ; it was not so common in my school 
days as it is now to put boys to writing compositions. 
Indeed, it was very uncommon, and I never saw it done 
in any .school that I attended. 

Charley. — What! didn't you have to write composi- 
tions at school? 

Uncle Ben. — No ; I was not required to write compo- 
sitions in my school days. 

Charley. — What sort of schools and teachers did they 
have then ? They must have been very different from 
the ones that we have now, for boys, and girls too, all 



OLD AND NEW FASHIONED 5CHOOES. 89 

have to write them — at least, all that can write or handle 
a pen or pencil. 

Uncle Ben. — Yes, they were very different in some 
things ; and the boys of to-day ought to be thankful for 
the many advantages that they have over the boys of 
fifty 5^ears ago; and it does seem that the}' ought to learn 
much faster and a great deal more than we did, but I 
don't see that they do. 

Charley. — Can't yo\x tell me something about those 
old-fashioned schools and the old-fashioned teachers that 
I have heard mentioned so often, and tell me the differ- 
ence between them and ours, and between your school- 
boy days and mine? 

Uncle Be7i. — Well, there was a great difference in 
some things ; a difference in the way schools were carried 
on, but not so much difference at least in the objects 
sought for and obtained. In my day we had no free 
school to which all were at liberty to go on equal terms ; 
and the boy whose parents were too poor or too selfish to 
pay for his schooling was shut out from the school. We 
had no school districts or district school-houses established 
by law, as you have now ; nor did we have any normal 
school to teach the teachers; nor any school commis- 
sioners to examine them and give them a license to teach ; 
but every man, woman, or boy who wanted a school and 
could make up the number of scholars was allowed to 
teach it. Another great difference between then and 
now was in the school-houses — generally rough log 
cabins, large enough to hold twenty-five or thirty chil- 
dren by crowding them in. The one I went to school 
in may serve as an average description at that day in 
that State. 

It was built of round logs, notched up and covered 
with clapboards, ribs, and weigh-poles, the cracks chinked 
and daubed with mud; a puncheon floor and a chimney 
made of sticks and clay ; a wide fire-place, with a back 
wall of stone and a large flat rock set up on each side for 
the jambs. It was not seated, as your school-house is, 
with seats and desks ; but the seats were rough and long 
benches, with nothing for the back to rest against ; and 
on tliese benches the scholars sat, sometimes crowded 
together as close as they could wedge in — especially in 



go RURAIv RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

cold weather, on the benches next the fire-place. A 
wider and taller bench, placed against the wall, where a 
large crack or crevice was left open to give light, served 
as a writing desk ; and another bench of the same length 
served as a seat for the writing class to sit on when writ- 
ing. This was all the furniture. No black-board then, 
no stove, no maps, no globes ; and each patron furnished 
his children such books as he pleased, and nearly every 
scholar was in a class to himself. It is true that Webster's 
North American Spelling-Book was the principal speller, 
but some children brought the old Dilworth that their 
fathers or mothers had studied in before them. A few 
copies, also, of Dr. Franklin's spelling-book were in the 
school. 

As to readers, except the Testament, scarcely any 
two were alike — one or two copies of Scott's I^essons, 
which we called John Gilpin, because that was all the 
lesson in it that interested us, or that we cared to read ; 
a few copies, also, of the English Reader by Murray. 
Pike's Arithmetic and a few older authors that had been 
used time out of mind were the matheihatical books. 
And as to grammar, I only went to one school, and only 
a month to that one, where the teacher pretended to 
teach it ; but when it was taught it was Lindley Murray's 
old and dry grammar ; and in all my schooling I never 
saw the inside of one. 

Charley. — But, Uncle Ben, was there much difference 
in the manner of teaching what they did teach and in 
governing schools, from the present system? 

Uncle Be?i. — I suppose there was, but can't say for 
certain. I am not very well posted in the present system, 
and cannot tell how thej^ manage them now, only as I 
get it from you and others who go to school ; but from 
what I see and hear, you have some variations from the 
old style. The custom, when I went to school, was for 
the first one at school in the morning to recite the first 
lesson, the second next, and so on to the last. And many 
a race I have had and witnessed to get into the school- 
house first. Sometimes there was a spelling-book class 
and a Testament class ; and when called up, we spelled a 
word or read a verse alternately, and if one missed a word 
or miscalled a letter, any one below him was allowed and 



OLD AND NEW FASHIONED SCHOOLS. 9 1 

required by the teacher to be on the watch and correct 
him ; and the first one to make the proper correction 
went up, perhaps to be turned down himself at the next 
or some future round. Each one studying arithmetic 
was in a class by himself, and got on as fast as he could, 
without waiting for others, and without dragging his 
classmates or being dragged along by them, as is too 
commonly the case now. Each one had his own black- 
board in the shape of a slate, and had no regular time 
for saying lessons. When he worked out his sum, he 
took his slate to the master to see if he had done it right. 
If he stalled and came to a dead halt, he would scratch 
his head awhile, and then march up to the master's seat 
and ask for help. In some of the schools we had loud 
study — that is, every scholar read or might read and spell 
aloud; and sometimes, especially when learning a hard 
lesson, each one would strain his voice to get above 
every other, and one could scarcely hear himself. An- 
other difference was this : if you met a scholar going to 
school or returning, he was not loaded down with books; 
he was not studying half a dozen or more branches at 
once. When he had learned to spell and read and write 
creditably, he went to ciphering ; and in general, it was 
only when his head or his brain became tangled with 
figures that he laid down his slate and went to the writ- 
ing-bench, or to the spelling-book, till his head became 
straight again ; and until he got through with Pike, no 
other study was allowed to interfere, except as a rest or 
recreation. Another good custom not now in use was to 
write down in his ciphering-book the solution of every 
problem solved, to which he could refer in after days, if 
his memory failed him as to the process by which the 
answer had been obtained. As well as I can recollect, 
my ciphering-book contained two quires of paper, and 
was preserved for years, and would be highly prized now 
if I had it. 

Another difference time has wrought in schools, 
school-teaching, and school-teachers : the teachers then 
put in their whole time, or nearly so. Six hours did not 
count as a day, and four weeks didn't count a month ; 
and if a teacher lost Christmas or Thanksgiving Day or 
any other holiday, he made up the time the same as 



92 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

other hirelings did. When men paid for the schooling 
of their own children, instead of other people's, as now, 
they contended for the worth of their money. There are 
those who contend that school-teachers are poorly paid 
now, when they get from $35.00 to $60.00 per month; 
and I believe that they themselves complain more on 
account of the smallness of their wages than teachers of 
fifty years ago did, when they received from $10.00 to 
$15.00, worked all day, ruled copy-books, set copies, 
made and mended pens, from the goose-quill, and helped 
the boys cut and "tote" wood enough at one play-time 
to do until the next; and then, at the end of the term, 
or at Christmas, had to treat or be ducked in the creek. 
There are some of those old-fogy teachers living yet, who 
have not forgotten those things, and if $40.00 is not 
enough for teachers now, I think they ought to claim 
a back salary for the time they taught for $10.00 and 
$12.00. 

Charley. — But, Uncle, I heard Doctor R. say the other 
day that it was cheaper to pay $60.00 per month for a 
good teacher than to pay $15.00 for a poor one. 

Uncle Ben. — Yes; I know that's the argument, and the 
fact that a young man has passed through college or been 
to the normal school, and has learned to smoke cigars 
with a fashionable grace, entitles him to the title of a 
good teacher of the sixty-dollar class ; while another who 
has gotten his education as my teacher did, mostly at 
home by the light of a pine knot, is considered a dear 
teacher at any price, although, in the point of knowledge 
aod solid acquirements, he may discount the other fifty 
per cent. 

Oar/^.— Tell me. Uncle Ben, how it happened that 
you learned to write as well as you do, if you never wrote 
compositions in youth? 

Uncle Ben. — I did not say that I never wrote composi- 
tions when a boy. I said I never wrote them at school; 
because it was never assigned to me as a task. But I did 
write them at home for my own amusement and edifica- 
tion, with a hope that I might some day be benefited by 
it, as well as other home studies, after leaving school, as 
my self-taught teacher had been. Perhaps if those teach- 
ers had been taught at college, and learned all that they 



OIvD AND NKW FASHIONED SCHOOLS. 93 

knew there, I might have fancied that there was no other 
way to acquire an education^ and given up in despair, 
because I was too poor to go to college, or to any other 
high-school. When I was at your age, I would have 
been pleased to write such compositions as your teacher 
requires you to write; and I admit this is one of the 
improvements made in teaching, and I am very much in 
favor of the practice ; but I would have every boy to 
write his own, and all the help I would be willing to give 
would be to criticise, or point out errors, or make some 
suggestions as improvements. If you wish to succeed in 
your compositions, or anything else, you must rely mainly 
upon your own application to study and your persever- 
ance in it; and if you fail at first, try again. There is 
nothing like trying. Do not depend too much upon 
what your teacher or others may do for you. It is well 
enough to have teachers to help you over the hard places 
and to correct you v/hen you are going wrong; but 
remember, that though they may teach, you have to do 
the learning; and remember, again, that the boy who 
follows only as somebody leads, will sooner or later find 
himself at a loss. And here, I think, is one disadvantage 
the youth of to-day labor under. They have so many 
so-called advantages over the youth of fifty years ago, in 
the way of educational facilities, that they trust too much 
to those facilities, and too little to themselves and their 
own exertions. They have free schools to which all can 
go at least half the year. They have comfortable school- 
houses, well furnished with every needed help and appli- 
ance ; good teachers, versed in all the branches of knowl- 
edge required to be taught in common schools, and even 
more. And the boy too often thinks that so many and 
such great facilities, will carry him through without ^ny 
extraordinary effort, or with no effort at all on his part, 
and what he fails to learn while those facilities are offered 
him, he never learns after they are withdrawn. He 
fancies he is going to school to acquire knowledge at the 
hands of those who have themselves acquired it at other 
schools, from other teachers ; and when his term of school 
ends, and the facilities which it afforded are withdrawn, he 
stops for the want of a leader : whereas, if he had obtained 



94 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

the same knowledge that he has, under the privations 
and disadvantages under which we labored, he would 
have more self-reliance, and might go on improving and 
adding to his knowledge after school was over. 

Charley. — Don't you admit, though, that school-teach- 
ers as a class are much better qualified than fifty years 
ago, and that there are not so many ignoramuses amongst 
them now as there were then, and that they understand 
the work of teaching much better? 

Uncle Ben. — Yes; in a certain sense, I admit all that. 
Schools have been multiplied, and the teachers of to-day 
have had twice as much training as the man in the back- 
woods had fifty years ago ; and the young man now who 
does not take in the rudiments of knowledge freely has 
it pumped into him, as it were, almost by force; and 
although he may not have mastered the required number 
of studies, he has been dragged through by his teachers, 
and has managed to learn some things that teachers of 
the olden time never heard of; while at the same time, 
some of these old-fogy teachers could put him to the 
blush in some of the most common and most useful 
branches of an e very-day education. 

Charley. — They might, perhaps, stall some of our young 
men and young lady teachers in their mathematics, but 
I'll bet you'll not find one that can stump our teacher, 
Mr. G., for he has arithmetic, algebra, and geometry at 
his fingers' ends, and knows them by heart — or by head, 
as you please to call it. 

Uncle Ben. — Perhaps you think so, and may be he 
thinks so too, for I hear he is well posted in mathemat- 
ics, particularly in mental arithmetic, which was not 
taught much when I was a boy ; but do you think he can, 
by his head, and without using his fingers at all, com- 
pute the compound interest of one hundred dollars, for 
one hundred years, at five and two-fifths per cent, or any 
less amount for a less number of years, at the same or 
other rate of interest? If he cannot, he is not equal to 
one of the old-fashioned teachers that I know of, who 
lives not a hundred miles off, and who never studied 
figures six months at school, all put together. If your 
teacher can do that, or if he can, by his head (mentally), 



OLD AND NEW FASHIONED SCHOOLS. 95 

extract the fifth or the seventh root of any number less 
than a thousand, then, perhaps, he can solve the problem 
of John's farm, which the old fogy I speak of can solve, 
but has never found any college professor able to do it. 

Charley. — What problem is that? 

Uncle Be7i. — As it is stated in rh5^me, it reads thus: 

John's farm a semicircle is, 

lyaid out by rule precise; 
No man but him, no brain but his 

Could such a plan devise. 
That semicircle's base, now mind, 

Is poles two hundred long. 
From which the area you can find. 

And 'twill not take you long; 
Upon the base 'tween A and B, 

Ten perches from the centre K, 
There stands a silver maple-tree; 

'Tis nearer B than A, 
And from that tree to A and B 

He semicircles drew 
Within the farm, and they, you see, 

Are semicircles true. 
And then, adjoining these, he put 

An entire circle, such 
As neither curving are to cut, 

But each of them to touch. 
And having drawn that circle one, 

Another one he drew. 
Just touching these, but cutting none. 

And that is numbered two; 
Another, and another still, 

A, B and C and D, 
Decreasing, growing smaller still. 

To end, if end there be. 
And then, upon the other side of circle numbered one, 
He circle after circle drew, as he before had done. 
Still smaller every circle grew, and faster than before ; 
Till 'tween those semicircles two no room was found for 

more. 
Now say how many circles there, if any man can know. 
The radius true of each declare, and how you know it's so. 



96 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

Should other circles still be drawn, no other circle in, 
But touching those already drawn, and lying in between, 
Tell me the size of every one, no matter where they lie ; 
Or, if you say it can't be done, just tell the reason why. 

Charley. — Well, I don't know that I understand it, or 
that my teacher will; but if it can be done, I think he'll 
doit. 

Uncle Ben. — It may be that he will not understand it 
fully, or know what is required; and to enable you or him 
to do so, draw a half-circle, the straight line or diameter 
equal 200. Then inside of that, draw two other half- 
circles, meeting on diameter. A, B, ten perches from the 




centre, one being no and the other 90 in diameter. 
Then draw an exact circle, the largest that can be drawn 
inside the large semicircle, without cutting any part of 
the smaller ones, and tell its size. Then draw a circle 
on each side of that, just touching, but not cutting it or 
any other arc, and so on, telling the size of each ; and if 
Mr. G., or any other modern teacher can solve it he will 
do what none of them has done, so far as is known, and 
perhaps none of the old fashioned ones can, except the 
one referred to ; and he perhaps would be refused a cer- 
tificate to teach a modern school because he might not 
answer questions in the language of the books now in 
use or might not rightly divide the alphabet into vowels 
and semi-vowels, consonants, labials, dentals, mutes, and 
semi-mutes; or like another old fogy, might not correctly 



OLD AND NKW FASHIONEJD SCHOOLS. 97 

answer what the difference is between the reciprocal of 
a number and the number itself, not comprehending its 
meaning. But now, to sum it all up, Charley, though 
you had better schools and more of them than we had in 
my boyhood, better houses and more of them, better books 
and a great many more of them, with better and greater 
facilities every way for acquiring knowledge, the results 
or the fruits of those schools are not in proportion to 
the money expended in supporting them. In other 
words, the knowledge of the education acquired is not 
in proportion to the dollars and cents that it costs. 

You may hear old men on all sides saying that chil- 
dren commencing in their letters now do not learn as 
fast as they did when they were children. 

This may not be the fault of the schools, or the 
teachers, or the children, but if such is the case, there 
must be a cause for it. Perhaps the parents may be to 
blame. They may think that as the State or public 
pays the teacher, and pays him so much better than old- 
time teachers were paid, it is their place to do all the 
teaching, and do not themselves lend the same help that 
the men and women of by-gone days did, when they had 
to pay out of their own pockets for all the teaching 
their children received at school. 

And now, let me say this to you: If you have a lesson 
to learn, study it yourself, and do not depend upon your 
teacher or classmates to study for you. If you have a 
composition to write, go at it, and do not ask Uncle Ben, 
or any other uncle, to write it for you. If your lesson is 
hard, study the harder ; if it is easy and soon learned, be 
thankful that you have some time to study something 
else useful ; and devote more of your time to useful than 
to ornamental branches; and before you sneer, as some 
do, at old-fogy ways, old-fogy schools and school-teachers, 
be sure that you, with your greater facilities, are doing 
as well or better than they did without them. 



—7— 



98 RURAI< RHYMKS AND OLDEN TIMES. 

PERSECUTION FOR OPINION'S SAKE. 



(This parable was written more than 200 years ago, 
and the author is not known. Dr. Franklin translated 
it more than a hundred years since and published it, and 
it was so much like him, he was thought to be its author; 
but he only turned the Latin into English, and I now 
turn his plain English prose into rhyme ; but the thoughts 
and the moral are as they were 200 years ago.) 

After these things, when the day was far spent. 

And Abraham sat in the door of his tent, 

A man bent with age, with a trembling frame, 

Who leaned on a staff, from the wilderness came; 

And Abraham rose, the tired stranger to meet, 

And said : "Turn in, I pray thee, and here wash thy feet. 

And tarry with me in my tent all the night. 

And thou shalt rise at the morn's early light 

Refreshed; on the morrow, go forth on thy way." 

But the stranger made answer, and meekly said: "Nay, 

But under this tree, all alone, I'll abide." 

But Abraham pressed, and the stranger complied ; 

He turned at the bidding, and thankfully went 

And sat himself down in the patriarch's tent. 

Then Abraham baked him the unleavened bread. 

And together did eat; but Abraham said: 

"I see that thou hast not blessed the Most High, 

Who created all things; pray now tell me why?" 

But the stranger made answer, and said: " I ne'er claim 

The God that you worship, nor call on His name; 

For a God of my own I have made unto me. 

Which always abides in my house, do you see. 

And provides me with everything needed in life." 

But Abraham's zeal was now kindled for strife; 

Against the poor stranger at once he arose. 

He fell upon him, and he drove him with blows 

Forth into the wilderness, far, far away; 

But God called to Abraham, and thus did He say: 

"Abraham, where has the stranger man iled?" 

And Abraham answered the Lord, then, and said : 



LAWYERS AND A LAWSUIT OF THE OLD TIME. 99 

" L/Ord God of the earth, he would not worship Thee, 
Nor call on Thy name ; which so much angered me 
That I've driven him hence before my stern face, 
With blows, and with stripes, to a rough desert place." 
" Have I borne," said the I^ord, "with that stranger so 

long, 
These hundred and ninety-eight years in his wrong, 
And nourished and clothed him as I have done thee. 
Notwithstanding his stubborn rebellion toward me. 
And couldst thou, who also have sinned in my sight, 
Not bear with the stranger for one single night? " 



LA WYERS AND A LA WSUIT OF THE OLD 
TIME. 



Dialogue — Uncle Ben and Charley. 

Charley. — Do you think. Uncle Ben, that Patrick 
Henry was in earnest when he said, "Give me.liberty, or 
give me death," or was he just "gassing," as other law- 
yers do now ? 

Uncle Ben. — It is hard to tell, Charley; I suppose he 
really meant the first part of it, "Give me liberty," but 
as to the latter part, "Give me death," I am inclined to 
think that, if death had been offered, he would have pre- 
ferred something else, as the man in the fable did. 

As you say, lawyers are often " gassing," and it is 
hard to tell when they speaking their real sentiments. 
You know it is their trade to talk for money; and one, 
for the sake of a good fee, will talk away a man's fife, 
liberty, or character, though he may be satisfied of his 
innocence. And another, for a like fee, will labor day 
and night, and shed tears like a crocodile, to save a man 
from the penalty of the law, when he verily believes him 
guilty. I have heard them talk sometimes when I 
thought they meant what they said, and sometimes quite 
the reverse. Sometimes the lawyer, upon each side, 
talks for money, and also to gain a reputation for oratory 
and sharp practice, without caring three straws how the 
case may go. When I was a boy, about your age, or a 
little older, I heard the first lawyer's pleading in a court 



TOO RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

of justice; and, if they convinced me of nothing else, I 
was convinced that both were good talkers, and that 
both were shrewd, sharp fellows ; and that is the verdict 
that the most of them seek from the public, more than a 
verdict of right from the jury. 

Charley. — Was it a case of life or death ? 

Uncle Ben. — No, it was a very small affair; or, at least, 
it grew out of a small affair: a case of petty larceny, 
where a young woman was arraigned for stealing two 
ounces of indigo, worth about thirty cents; and yet it was 
a case of some moment. Indeed, it was of very great 
moment to the girl accused, as her reputation was at 
stake, as much as if it had been for hundreds of dollars. 

Charley. — And did they carry that small affair into 
the court-house, and fee lawyers on each side, for the 
sake of thirty cents? 

Uncle Ben. — Yes, indeed; for that or for something 
else — not an uncommon thing, either. Many a lawsuit 
has cost thousands of dollars, the cause or origin of which 
was less than one. That being my first acquaintance 
with lawyers, and that the first court-house I ever saw, 
it made an impression on the mind that has not been 
effaced. A young woman or girl, not much older than I 
was, had been indicted for stealing two ounces of indigo, 
which at that time was an article more in demand than it 
is now, for the reason that men, and women too, dressed 
in homespun — home-colored and home-made clothing; 
and instead of calico prints, the young women wore 
their home-made cotton dresses, striped with the red, 
white, and blue. The case was tried in the old limestone 
court-house, in Tazewell, in Claiborne County, Tennes- 
see. The friends of the young woman — a Revolutionary 
family from Virginia, who had, perhaps, heard Patrick 
Henry in his time — employed old General Cocke (Old 
Jack, as he was called, who had led the First Division 
of Tennessee Volunteers in the War of i8i'^) to defend 
the case, and his nephew. Sterling Cocke, was prosecuting 
attorney for the State. The youth and beauty of the 
prisoner, together with the standing of her family, and 
also the standing of the prosecutor, contributed to make 
the case one of great interest in the community where 
they lived. The evidence, in short, was that the pris- 



I^AWYERS AND A I.AWSUIT OP THE OLD TIME. lOl 

oner had been employed by the prosecutor, and had done 
one or more weeks' spinning, the lad)- testifying that on 
Saturday evening, as Miss Betsy was about to leave for 
home, she noticed on or about her bosom a small blue 
spot, and that as soon as she was gone, she went to look 
for her indigo, and that it was gone. This was all the evi- 
dence, except that another witness had noticed the stain 
of indigo on the bosom of her dress, and also what 
appeared to be a lump of something inside. 

The theory, then, of the prosecution was that the 
defendant had taken the indigo from its place in the after- 
noon, during Mrs. G.'s absence, and had secreted it in her 
bosom before starting home. The defendant had no 
counter-evidence to produce — nothing but a simple 
denial and plea of not guilty, and could not account for 
the stain of indigo — if there was any — on her person or 
on her clothing. The State's attorney made but a short 
speech — said the case was too plain to need one — dwelt 
upon the good character and credibility of the witnesses; 
the fact that the indigo was there in the morning and 
gone in the evening — missed almost as soon as the 
defendant was gone: said it was true that the stolen 
article had not been traced into defendant's possession 
or found on her person, but that its mark or stain had 
been seen and noticed, and the impression of its bulk had 
been seen and noticed also ; and that this impression and 
this stain had not been accounted for, and could not be, 
on any other hypothesis than the one claimed by the 
prosecution. 

The counsel for the defense (Old Jack) then rose and 
made quite a lengthy speech, charging that a conspiracy 
or scheme had been formed to blast the reputation and 
ruin the character of an innocent, hard-working young 
woman, dependent upon her own labor for a support, 
and her own honesty for a passport through life. On 
cross-examination, the witness had testified that the 
stolen article was of the Bengal or hard kind of indigo; 
and the old general exhibited a small sample or lump of 
that kind to the jury, to show that in ordinary handling it 
would leave no mark or stain, either on the fingers or the 
clothing, rubbing it on his hands, his vest, and shirt bosom, 
and leaving no stain whatever. He then poured forth a 



I02 RURAL RHYMKS AND OLDEN TIMES. 

stream of invective against the conspirator or conspir- 
ators, and a stream of eloquence as to the irreparable 
injury that would be inflicted upon an innocent girl if 
the jury should, upon such evidence, render a verdict 
of guilty. 

While he was pouring forth these strains of eloquence, 
for which he was noted, his nephew, young Sterling, 
asked him for the bit of indigo, when he had ceased to 
exhibit it to the jury; and, wetting and softening it with 
spittle, he rubbed it upon the bar, against which the old 
general would occasionally press his white cotton pants. 

The speech went on for an hour and the process of 
rubbing the indigo on the bar went on also. When the 
orator, in his gesticulations, would recede from the bar a 
short distance back or to one side, the indigo was applied, 
only to be transferred to the white pants when the gen- 
eral, in his energy, would press against the bar to press 
more forcibly his arguments home upon the jury. Finally, 
in summing up the evidence and arguments, he dwelt 
upon the fact that about all the evidence relied on was 
that a stain of indigo had been seen on the defendant's 
person or on her clothing; "And hence," said he, "you 
are called upon to say that she stole some of the article. 
But, gentlemen of the jury, have I not shown you that 
if she had stolen it and put it in her bosom, as they said 
she did, it would not have betrayed her, for the kind of 
indigo stolen, or said to have been stolen, does not, in 
ordinary handling, leave any mark of blue whatever. 
This, gentlemen, I have demonstrated to you beyond a 
doubt." 

The young attorney could contain himself no longer, 
and seeing that the jury were in the same situation, he 
interrupted his uncle by saying: "If you will examine 
a little closer, general, I think you will find that it has 
left some marks — a certain gentleman's pantaloons 
appear to have changed color within the' last hour." 

After the laugh had subsided, in which the judge 
could not help joining, Old Jack at once saw through the 
trick that had been played, and how he had been caught. 
But he proved equal to the emergency. Taking a new 
start, he went on something after the following manner: 

" I told you, gentlemen of the jury, at the start, I've told 



LAWYERS AND A LAWSUIT OF THE OLD TIME. 103 

you time and again, and I tell you now, this defendant, 
this fair young girl, just coming into womanhood, has 
been the victim of some foul scheme by some foul per- 
son or persons, who have plotted and planned to rob her 
of everything she had upon earth, a good name — an un- 
sullied character; and she has been called upon to ex- 
plain certain things which only they themselves can ex- 
plain. Witnesses have sworn that the indigo was miss- 
ing; who took it? It may have been stolen or hidden 
by some one of the plotters. Witnesses have sworn that 
they saw marks of indigo upon the defendant's clothing, 
and we are asked how those marks came there; and I ask 
the same question. Perhaps they were made by some 
person in the plot, and made without her knowledge, as 
those blue stains which I now wear were made without 
my knowledge. Somebody can account for these blue 
stains being here better than I can. 

"And some person or persons could explain more about 
that plot to stain and ruin a poor girl's character than 
she herself can. Yes, gentlemen of the jury, I might 
have stolen and carried off pounds of such indigo with- 
out receiving a stain. The fact that a person has no 
blue marks upon him is no proof that he never stole 
indigo, and the fact that he has such marks is no proof 
that he did. You see I have the marks, but you know 
I did not steal the indigo that made them. How do you 
know it? Because, like the conspirators in this plot 
against this defendant, you know how they came there ; 
and somebody knows where the indigo is that made 
them. I remember, now, I saw smiles on some of your 
faces a while ago, that I could not then account for; but 
I can account for it now, and I only wonder that you did 
not laugh aloud. No doubt, gentlemen, that while the 
fair cheeks of my fair client have been bathed in tears 
through the long summer's day, and her pillow wet with 
them at night, in consequence of this indictment, some- 
body else has been smiling and gloating over her dis- 
tress and hoped-for ruin. While she was ignorant that 
the stain of indigo, or the still darker stain of dishonesty, 
rested upon her, somebody else, who assisted in putting 
that stain there, would have pointed it out, and could 
have told how it came there. 



I04 RURAL RHYMKS AND OLDKN TIMKS. 

"Gentlemen, I am thankful, truly thankful, that the 
illustration has been so plainly made how an innocent, 
unsuspecting character may be stained with the marks 
of guilt, and how easy it is for a plot or conspiracy to be 
concocted and carried out, and a train of circumstances 
laid that will go far to prove that white is black, or rather 
blue, and the innocent for a time made to appear as 
under a cloud of guilt, because unable to account for cir- 
cumstances of which he or she had no knowledge, and 
which were brought about by the secret actions of others. 

"Gentlemen, if I had had any doubt, before this color- 
ing of my pantaloons, of what your verdict in this case 
will be, I have none now; mj)- client will go forth acquit- 
ted of the charge of theft, under which for months she 
has been resting." 

Charley. — And was she acquitted, sure enough? 

Uncle Ben. — Yes; the State's attorney made a lengthy 
reply, but his evidence and his arguments were not strong 
enough to convict. She w^as acquitted, lived some time 
in the county, then moved to Kentucky, married, and was 
living there when last I heard of her; and to old General 
Cocke's credit be it said, he refused to receive any fee. 

Charley. — Bully for him ! But I think the girl ought 
to have washed his pants, if she could pay nothing more. 



THE MOTHERS DYING CHARGE. 

Draw near, my son ; thej^ tell me now 

That I must shortly die; 
The damps of death are on my brow — 

The end is surely nigh. 

You soon will have no mother, John ; 

I'm shortly going where 
Your dear departed father's gone, 

And hope you'll meet us there. 

It is a thorny path, my boy, 

Your mother's feet have trod. 
But soon 'twill end in realms of joy — 

The paradise of God. 



WHAT I SAW OF ORDER NUMBER ELEVEN. I05 

You know, my son, I've tried to lead 

Your steps in virtue's way. 
God knows, my boy, I've often prayed 

That you might never stray. 

Still be a good, obedient boy, 

As you have ever been, 
And as you grow to man's estate. 

Shun all the paths of sin. 

Shun theft, deceit, and falsehood, John; 

Shun every evil thing; 
Oh, shun them, John, as you would shun 

The poisoned adder's sting ! 

You have your father's Bible, John, 

The word of truth divine; 
Keep it, my boy, and prize it as 

The last best gift of mine. 

Read it, my son; its truths believe, 

Its precepts daily try; 
'Twill teach you how, my son, to live, 

'Twill teach you how to die ! 



WHA T J SAW OF ORDER NUMBER ELEVEN. 

General Thomas Ewing's famous Order No. 11 is 
one amongst the memorable events of the War of the 
Rebellion in 1861; especially is it memorable on the 
western borders of Missouri. That order, which com- 
manded and required all the citizens of three border 
counties, and a part of the fourth, to vacate their homes 
and remove into garrisoned towns, or from the military 
district, will ever be remembered by those citizens who 
were affected by its provisions. It is often spoken of 
and referred to, and has been much condemned by some 
and strenuously defended by others; and while I shall 
not attempt to do one or the other, I will, as plainly, con- 
cisely, and impartially as I can, describe what I saw, 
witnessed, and felt of its incidents, consequences, and 
results, without pretending to say or to know whether 



Io6 RURAIv RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

the consequences would have been better or worse if that 
order had never been made and enforced. 

For several weeks during the summer of 1863, rumors 
wete prevalent and common in the country that such an 
order was in contemplation. Scouting parties of Union 
soldiers declared that, unless the bushwhackers ceased 
from their system of guerrilla warfare, and the citizens 
ceased from harboring, aiding, and protecting them, an 
order would be made to depopulate the country infested 
by them. The threats, however, of the soldiers on either 
side were not regarded by the citizens as evidence that 
the things threatened would be performed. 

Experience has proved that, though threats of violence 
were often carried out, they were more often mere idle 
words of bravado. 

That which gave more color to the rumor, and more 
alarmed the citizens than the threats of the common 
soldier, was the fact that the Union men who had taken 
refuge in Kansas City and Independence notified their 
friends in the country to hold themselves in readiness to 
obey the order when it came; that unless a change for 
the better was made in regard to guerrilla warfare, such 
an order would most surely be issued. 

The Sni Hills in Jackson County had the name of 
being the principal rendezvous of those guerrillas, and 
threats of vengeance were more frequently made against 
that part of the country than any other. 

In Van Buren Township, embracing a part of those 
Sni Hills, a meeting was called and held on the 15th of 
August, 1863, to take into consideration those rumors 
and consult as to what was the best to be done. 

A committee was appointed, resolutions were drawn 
up, adopted, and signed by nearly all present, reciting 
those rumors of depopulation, and representing the great 
hardship and ruin it would bring upon all classes, the 
loyal and disloyal alike, and that in all probability the 
end sought would not be accomplished by it; closing 
with the assurance that those whose names were signed 
to the paper had not willingly aided, encouraged, or har- 
bored bushwhackers in the past, and that they would not 
in the future; but that each one, so far as he could in 



WHAT I SAW OF ORDER NUMBKR ELKVEN. 107 

safety, would discountenance such a system of warfare, 
and aid in suppressing it. 

It was voted by the meeting that those resolutions 
should be sent by a special messenger to General Ewing, 
at Kansas City, and I was requested to bear them. James 
Powers, a gentleman of the township, a Canadian by 
birth, who had managed to steer clear between the con- 
tending parties by claiming neutrality as a British sub- 
ject, agreed to carry me to Kansas City in his ox-wagon, 
oxen being the only kind of team that was not liable to be 
appropriated to the soldier's use. 

We camped near Westport on the night of the i8th 
of August, and drove into Kansas City the next morning, 
and I was shown into General Ewing's office ; but he 
was not present, having gone to lycavenworth. Our 
resolutions were shown to his secretary, or chief of staff 
{Major Plumb, I think), and were read and criticised by 
him and others present; amongst whom were two or 
three refugees from the county who claimed to know who 
of the subscribers were loyal and who were not, contend- 
ing that a majority were of disloyal tendencies and could 
not be depended upon. I remained in the office an hour 
or more, urging what I could in support of our resolu- 
tions and against the policy of the proposed order, the 
major promising to lay the paper before the general on 
his return. I then left the office, feeling that the mission 
had been a failure. From all I could see and learn in 
Kansas City, from friends and others, I made up my 
mind to prepare as well as I could for the worst and to 
leave home, if leave I must. I accordingly bought 
material to make a wagon-bed, as the only wagon I had 
was without one. We left for home on the afternoon of 
the 19th, where we arrived next evening. I was told 
that about 300 bushwhackers had eaten supper the even- 
ing before on the farm of Benjamin Potter, an old gentle- 
man living three-quarters of a mile from my house. My 
family said some of them came there and ordered half a 
bushel of bread, and that other neighbors were served 
with the same order. It afterwards turned out that these 
were Quantrell and his men on their way to I^awrence. 
Next day I carried material to the shops to have a wagon- 
box made, and commenced to make other arrangements 



I08 RURAI, EHYMES AND OI.DEN TIMES. 

to be better prepared to leave home, if I had it to do. In 
a few days the news of the tragedy at Ivawrence arrived 
in the neighborhood, and was flashed over all the country; 
and on Sunda^^ morning about forty of the retreating 
guerrillas passed my house, and scarcely a day passed 
that week but guerrillas, or Federal soldiers in pursuit 
of them, were seen in the neighborhood. 

On Tuesday, the 25th of August, General Ewing 
issued his celebrated order from Kansas City, and rumor, 
with her thousand tongues, soon spread it over the ill-fated 
territor3^ 

It was not, however, until Sunday, the 30th, that I 
saw in the Missouri Republican the document known as 
Order No. 11, reading as follows: 

"ist. All persons living in Jackson, Cass, and Bates 
counties, Missouri, and in that part of Vernon included 
in this district, except those living within one mile of the 
limits of Independence, Hickman's Mill, Pleasant Hill, 
and Harrisonville, and except those living north of Brush 
Creek and west of the Big Blue, are hereby ordered to 
remove from their present places of residence within fif- 
teen days from the date thereof. Those who, within that 
time, establish their loyalty to the satisfaction of the 
commanding ofiicer of the military station nearest their 
present places of residence, will receive from him certifi- 
cates stating the fact of their loyalty, and the names of 
the witnesses by whom it can be shown. All who receive 
such certificates will be permited to remove to any mili- 
tary station in the district, or to any part of the State of 
Kansas, except the counties on the eastern border of the 
State. All others shall move out of this district. Ofiicers 
commanding companies and detachments serving in the 
counties named will see that this paragraph is promptly 
obeyed. 

"2d. All grain and hay in the field or under shelter, 
in the district from which the inhabitants are required to 
remove, in reach of military stations, after the 9th day of 
September next, will be taken to such stations and turned 
over to the proper ofiicers there, and report of the amount 
so turned over made to the district headquarters, specify- 
ing the names of all loyal owners, and the amount of such 
produce taken from them. All grain and hay found in 



WH.IT I SAW OF ORDER NUMBER ELEVeX. IO9 

such district after the 9th of September next, not conven- 
ient to such stations, will be destroyed. 

" 3d. The provisions of General Order No. 10, from 
these headquarters, will be vigorously executed by 
officers commanding in parts of the district and at the 
stations not subject to the operations of paragraph ist of 
this order, and especially in the towns of Independence, 
Westport, and Kansas City. 

"4th. Paragraph No. 3, General Order No. 10, is 
revoked as to all who have borne arms against the Gov- 
ernment in this district since the 20th of August, 1863. 

" By order of Brigadier-General Kwing. 

" H. Hannah, Adjutant.'' 

I thought I had witnessed and felt the hardships and 
privations of civil'war and martial law before, but it was 
reserved for this, the last week in August and the first 
ones in September, 1863, to teach me and others how 
much the human body and mind can bear up under and 
still survive. That 30th of August, instead of being a 
Sabbath of rest, was to all a busy day of care and labor, 
preparing to obey the stern mandate, and abandon the 
homes procured by many years of toil and labor, followed, 
too, by other days of care, toil, and anxiety. 

Previous to this, if one were brought into a strait, or 
got into trouble or difficulty, he could appeal to some 
friend or neighbor for help, and the appeal was seldom 
made in vain. But now all were in the same strait; the 
same weight of sorrow and distress was pressing upon all ; 
there was no exception, and none in our part of the dis- 
trict were exempt from the general hardship. Though 
none were well prepared to obey the order, some were 
much better prepared than others. But whether well 
or ill prepared, there was no help for it; all must go, 
On Monday, the last of August, a number of citizens, 
myself amongst the number, repaired to Pleasant Hill, in 
order to prove loyalty and get certificates or permits to 
remove to the military posts, or other parts of the district 
outside the doomed or proscribed territory. 

Captain John Ballinger, of the ist Regiment of the 
Missouri State Militia, was commanding the post, and to 
him was assigned the duty of taking proof of loyalty and 
granting certificates; but he had not yet been furnished 



no RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

with instructions from Gen. Kwing as to the manner or 
mode of proceeding, and after waiting till late in the after- 
noon, we returned home ; a day of valuable time lost. I 
that day made up my mind to move to the post at Pleas- 
ant Hill and run the risk of getting permission afterward. 
My brother and I, having the promise of a house in the 
suburbs of the town, agreed to occupy it together with 
our families ; and the next morning I started with a load 
of household articles to that place. About half way I 
was overtaken by a messenger sent by my family to 
apprise me that my brother had changed his purpose, 
and was going to Clay County; and further, that it would 
not be safe for me to attempt moving to Pleasant Hill, as 
the bushwhackers, would not permit me to do so. I 
accordingly turned back, and the same evening took my 
load to Wm. F. Snow's, a brother-in-law, in Johnson 
County ; and the next day hauled another load into 
lyafayette, as also did my neighbors, John Cave, David 
Hunter, and Thos. Bradley; which articles we stored 
away in the house, the barn, and the yard of a Mr. Gallo- 
way, near the present town of Odessa. During the whole 
of this week my neighbors and the citizens generally 
were removing necessary articles out of the county to 
places where they would be in some degree safe, until 
they could find a temporary home to which they could 
be removed. Having moved out two loads, I loaned my 
wagon and oxen to a brother-in-law and a son-in-law to 
get a load each of their goods away from the ill-fated 
county. 

On Saturday, September 5th, I repaired again to 
Pleasant Hill, and had no difiiculty in getting a certificate 
of loyalty, which would authorize me to go to any part of 
the country, outside the three counties of Jackson, Cass, 
and Bates. I also assisted some others in getting certifi- 
cates of like character, and returned home in better spirits 
than I had enjoyed for several days, and had a better 
night's sleep than I had had for a week before, not even 
dreaming of what was in store for me, and the sorrow and 
suffering I was to witness and to bear the next day. 

I had resolved now to cross over the line into John- 
son County and stop in the vicinity of Basin Knob, about 
five or six miles from home, from which place I could 



WHAT I SAW OF ORDER NUMBER ELEVEN. Ill 

occasionally see to my farm and what was left upon it, 
and removed things at my leisure. But it was not to be. 
Most of my neighbors were gone, or were going that day, 
as I also intended to do. I had but one wagon and one 
yoke of oxen with which to move my own family, my 
son-in-law, Wm. C. Tate, and his, and such bedding and 
clothing as we could carry with that one team. 

On the morning of the 6th of September, as we were 
making arrangements to leave, a squad of soldiers of the 
Kansas 9th Regiment came suddenly upon us, making 
prisoners of me, my son Isaac, and my son-in-law, inform- 
ing us that we must go with them to where Col. Clark 
was stopping, on the Roupe farm, a mile or more away. 
They also had taken David Hunter, my near neighbor, 
and brought him along. We set out, hoping that under 
the circumstances we would not be detained long. As 
we neared the residence of old Mr. Hunter, his grandson, 
Andrew Ousley, a youth of 17, rode up to see about the 
arrangement for moving, and he, too, was taken into 
custody. The old gentleman, about 75 years of age, was 
not molested. A very short distance further, at the 
house of John S. Cave, he and his brother-in-law, Wm. 
Hunter, were added to the number ; and a hundred yards 
further on, Benjamin Potter, 75 years of age, was met 
and also taken in charge. Eight of us now were marched 
on three-quarters of a mile to the place of encampment. 
Here Col. Clark, who had been scouting the country ever 
since the lyawrence massacre, met us and took down the 
name of each prisoner, and then retired into the under- 
brush near by, where some of his men were stationed, 
and we were permitted to sit down by the fence. 

When first taken, I had shown the captain the certifi- 
cate that Captain Ballinger had given me the day before ; 
none of the others had any. 

In a short time the colonel returned, and asked me 
which of the other persons was my son ; and seeing that 
one of his young men had appropriated my son's hat to 
his own use, in a menacing manner he bade him restore 
it. He retired again ; and Barney Dempsy, an acquaint- 
ance of all, who was acting as pilot to the company, came 
and spoke a few friendly words, and left. During all 
this time, neither the officers nor any of the men spoke a 



112 RURAI, RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

harsh or menacing word to any of us. Captain Coleman, 
who had first taken us prisoners, then came to me and 
said: " You will take your so?i and travel." These words 
but more particularly the manner in which they were, 
spoken, gave me the first alarm as to any real danger to 
any of the party. We immediately left as commanded, 
leaving our friends and neighbors behind, never to see 
them in life again; for in a very short time after reaching 
home, the report of several guns in quick succession 
alarmed us still more. I, however, persuaded myself, and 
tried to persuade the alarmed and distressed families, that 
it might be the soldiers shooting fowls on the Roupe 
farm for their breakfast. They would not, however, be 
so persuaded, and Miss Jane Cave heroically repaired to 
the spot, and found the company gone and the six pris- 
oners all dead, some of them pierced with many balls. 

About the time that this sad word was brought to us, 
another regiment, I believe the nth Missouri, passed on 
its way to Kansas City, bringing to me more of disap- 
pointment and distress. I had made arrangement with 
my sister in Johnson County, and her husband, Wm. F. 
Snow, if I left the country, for them to receive my aged 
mother into their family, and they were expected to send 
after her that day. But the regiment had him along as a 
prisoner. 

Though a strong Union man, some of their scouts, by 
representing themselves as bushwhackers, had so alarmed 
him that, like many others, to escape them he had said 
something that condemned him in the eyes of the Union 
soldiers, and thoy came very near taking his life, and car- 
ried him to Kansas City, where he remained for several 
months. Of neighbors left in the county, there were 
none that I knew of, except the families of the men who 
had just been killed. Nobody was left to bury them but 
me and my son and my old neighbor, Mr. Hunter. 

As soon as the last body of soldierls were gone, we 
repaired to the scene of death, to perform as well as we 
could the sad rites of sepulture. We found them on or 
near the spot where I had left them. Two of them 
appeared to have been shot as I left them, sitting bj' the 
fence, and the others but a few feet away. It was a sad 
and hurried burial, such as I hope never to see again. 




WM. C. TATE. 
See pages 113. 381. 260 and 262. 



WHAT I SAW OF ORDER NUMBER EI.EVEN. II3 

It was the desire to get away before another night 
should close on us. A grave was dug, and the fallen 
friends were laid side by side, in their bloody clothes; 
blankets spread over them and covered with earth. 

I had witnessed many burials, but this, I thought, was 
the saddest of them all. My aged friend and neighbor, 
at the age of three score and fifteen, helping me with his 
own hands to lay his two sons, his only sons, his grand- 
son and son-in-law, with two other relatives (one of whom 
was my son-in-law), in the rude and shallow grave that 
our own hands had dug for them. 

It may, perhaps, be asked why or for what cause this 
bloody tragedy was enacted ; why it was that these men 
were killed, and that I was spared. They were all quiet, 
peaceable citizens ; none of them had borne arms against 
the Government, except David Hunter a few days at the 
very first, at Camp Holloway, and he had afterward done 
duty in the enrolled militia. True, they were all South- 
ern men and Southern sympathizers ; and some of them 
had sons in the Southern army. I thought then, and 
still think, the principal cause was that Ouantrell and his 
raiders, on their way to L^awrence, stopped and ate supper 
on the Potter farm, and that some of these men visited 
them while they were getting that supper. 

The burial over, with heavy hearts we left the spot — 
a spot that I can never visit without the saddest reflec- 
tions ; and on which the friends have erected a plain 
marble shaft, that tells a part of the tale that I have been 
telling. We left the hastily buried friends, to make a 
hasty preparation for leaving them in their lonely sleep. 
Even while we were burying the dead, the women and 
children were loading up and making ready to leave. 
The events of the morning had disarranged all our plans, 
rendering it impossible to drive off any of our live stock 
with us. Cattle, sheep, and hogs were left behind, besides 
many other things abandoned to go to waste and destruc- 
tion. The growing crop of corn, corn in the crib, wheat 
in the granary and in the stack — all left behind. The 
soldiers, in passing, had thrown down the fence, and rode 
through the orchard, helping themselves to apples and 
peaches, and we had no time or inclination to put the 
fencing up, knowing that it would not remain up. 



I 14 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

I^ate in the afternoon such preparations as could be 
made in the time were made, and we all set off together. 
Our company consisted of John Hunter and his aged 
companion, and single daughter; his son David's wife 
and child ; his son William's wife, and several children ; 
his daughter, Nancy Cave, and her lately orphaned chil- 
dren ; his daughter, Mrs. Ousley (whose husband fell in 
th« Confederate army, and whose oldest son had fallen 
that morning), and her five remaining children; Benja- 
min Potter's daughter, and three of his gi;andchildren ; 
also a married daughter of Mrs. Cave (whose husband, 
Jacob Bennett, was in Ohio), and her two children ; my- 
self and six children, besides my widowed daughter and 
her three children, and my aged mother. As we were 
preparing to leave, a neighboring lady from Johnson 
County, Mrs. Fulkerson (who is the sister to our present 
Senator Cockerell), came along with a wagon (for ladies 
drove wagons then), and she took my mother home with 
her that night, and sent her to my sister Snow's the next 
day, for which act of kindness, at such a time, my grat- 
itude will live as long as I shall live. We crossed the 
count)^ line and left the county of our choice a little 
before sunset, and passed the night on the open prairie, 
southwest of Chapel Hill. My own reason, as well as 
the suggestions of friends, convinced me that my life 
was now in more danger than it had yet been. The 
country was full of bushwhackers, some of them the per- 
sonal friends of the men who had been killed in the 
morning ; I had been taken with them ; my life had 
been spared because I was a Union man ; theirs had been 
taken because they were not, and retaliation was common 
on each side. It was plain that I must go as my friends 
and neighbors did, or not go at all. I felt assured that 
if I abandoned them and sought a place of shelter and 
security, by taking some other road,. my life would pay 
the forfeit ; nor did I wish to abandon them, so long as I 
could be of service to those who were now so much in 
need of help. I had two sons, one eighteen and one four- 
teen years old, able to drive and handle teams, while 
some of the others had none. Next day we resumed our 
journey; passed Chapel Hill and Mount Hope, and 
camped at night near William Hall's, near lyittle Sni, and 



WHAT I SAW OF ORDER NUMBER ELEVEN. II5 

where we overtook or fell in with several of our neigh- 
bor acquaintances, who were also encamped there. Here 
Mr. Hunter and some of the others concluded to remain 
in camp a few days, and look round for shelter. I left 
them ; and with my family and my daughter's went on, 
and crossed the river at I^exington, intending to seek a 
home in Ray or Clay County. 

During those two or three days I saw much of the 
incidents and the fruits of Order No. 11. Before and 
behind was seen the long, moving train of sorrowing 
exiles : wagons and vehicles of every shape and size and 
of all kinds, drawn by teams of every sort, except good 
ones ; a cloud of dust rising from the road almost the 
whole day, while ever and anon we would meet a neigh- 
bor going back to get away a few more of the necessaries 
of life before that gth of September should come; and 
the further we proceeded, the greater became the moving 
column of wretched fugitives. On every road that led 
eastward from the county of Jackson came the moving 
mass of humanity, seeking an asylum they knew not 
where ; some driving their flocks and herds along with 
them; others,, again, as I was, with nothing but a make- 
shift of a wagon and team — some not even that. Women 
were seen walking the crowded and dusty road, carrying 
in a little bundle their all, or at least all that they could 
carry. Others, again, driving or leading a cow or a skel- 
eton horse, with a bundle or pack fastened upon it, or a 
pack-horse, on which the feebler members of the family 
rode by turns. 

The ferry-boat at L<exington, a substantial steamer, 
was kept busy from morning till night conveying the 
banished ones to the north of that turbid stream ; and 
perhaps that ferryman saw more of the exodus than any 
other one man; and the owners of that ferry-boat, per- 
haps, realized a greater profit from that Order No. 1 1 than 
anybody else, except those persons who appropriated to 
their own use what the citizens, for want of transportation, 
left behind them. The number which crossed at Lexing- 
ton — great as that number was — was but a small part of 
those who, under the operations of that Order No. 11, 
were made homeless, and scattered, as it were, to the 
four winds. Some crossed above and some below ; some 



Il6 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

went w«st into Kansas and Nebraska ; some stopped in 
Johnson, I^afaj^ette, Henry, and other counties further 
east; some went to Kentucky, Indiana, Illinois, Ohio, and 
other States. 

Another trouble and difficulty with those fugitives was 
to get permission to stop and locate in places of their own 
choosing. The Federal authorities and the Union citizens 
of other counties argued that if the loyal element of 
Jackson, Cass, and Bates repaired, as they were permitted 
to do, to Kansas and to the military posts, and the dis- 
loyal ones, who, it was said, had harbored and aided 
bushwhackers, and on whose account the order had been 
made, repaired in such numbers to other counties, the 
same state of things would soon take place there ; and the 
provost-marshal and the Federal authorities were impor- 
tuned, day after day, for permission to stop in Lafayette, 
Johnson, and other counties. Those who had certificates 
of loyalty, as prescribed by the order, had no difficulty in 
getting permits, and many others, who could establish a 
reputation for honesty, quietness, and good citizenship, 
were also granted permits to stop ; while others took their 
chances and stopped without permission, .and were suf- 
fered to remain during good- behavior. 

Of the several families in whose company I left home, 
old Mr. Hunter and family, Mrs. Cave and hers, Mrs. 
Ousley and hers, and Wm. Hunter's family stopped in 
the eastern part of Lafayette. David Hunter's wife and 
her father's (Mr. Potter's) family went on to Indiana, and 
Mrs Bennett and her children went to her husband in 
Ohio, and from there to Wisconsin. 

After crossing the river at Lexington, we were met by 
another discouragement. Notices or proclamations were 
posted up by the roadside, forbidding all persons banished 
from the counties south of the river, to stop in the county 
of Ray, without permission from the military authori- 
ties of that county ; and I was told that it was the same 
in other counties further north. 

The hundreds or thousands who crossed the river at 
Lexington worked their weary way in different directions, 
on different roads. Some turned westward into Clay 
County, some east into Carroll, Chariton, Howard, Boone, 



WHAT I SAW OF ORDER NUMBER EIvEVEN. II7 

and others ; while some took the northern road to Cald- 
well and Clinton, or still further north. 

It has been said that misery loves company. If so, 
the miserable ones had enough of it then ; scarcely any 
one was so poorly provided with the means of transporta- 
tion but some other would be met or passed who was as 
poorly provided, or even worse off than himself. 

We crossed the Missouri on Tuesda5^ the 8th of Sep- 
tember; and the next day, having joined companj^ with 
Wm. C. Estes, Moses Bailey, and my brother, E. N. Rice, 
all of Cass County, we arrived in Richmond, and repaired 
to the office of the post commander. Major King, a son, I 
think, of Austin A. King, our then member in Congress. 
Estes and I had certificates given by Ballinger, and upon 
these certificates and our statements as to the character 
of the other members of our company, we were all given 
permission to stop anywhere in Ray or Clay counties ; 
but the next thing was to find a place of shelter to stop 
in. The country was full of refugees seeking shelter and 
homes, and empty houses were hard to find. Estes and 
Bailey had friends and relatives in Clay, and they pro- 
ceeded on there. I and my brother parted company with 
them on the loth, near Elkhorn, and proceeded toward 
Knoxville. 

While thus moving slowly along in quest of a stopping- 
place, I was both vexed and amused at the way in which 
I saw we were looked upon by some good people of Ray. 
It was something hard to buy feed for our poor team, so 
fearful were they of giving aid and comfort to the enemies 
of the Government. One good man said he had no corn 
or cabbage to sell, and if he had, he would not sell to us. 
Another said he had corn plenty, and for me to help my- 
self to it; but refused to set a price, as he said he was not 
allowed to sell to rebels. 

On Friday afternoon we stopped at a Baptist church, 
south of Knoxville, and I set out to seek a place of shelter. 
I found near by an old school-mate that I had not seen 
since about 1827, in the person of Alfred Kinkaid, who 
gave me some friendly directions; and next evening we 
were fortunate enough to get into a small house with two 
small rooms; three families of us together, but we were 
thankful for the accommodation; and my gratitude to Mr. 



Il8 RURAI, RHYME;S AMD OLDEN TIMES. 

Reuben Holman has not died out yet. Here we remained 
together until my brother found another cabin for him- 
self and family, and there I remained during the winter. 

It may be asked whether the order prohibited us from 
going back to our homes and bringing away the goods 
left behind us. I do not know that the order in express 
terms either permitted or prohibited it; but to some 
extent it was done by those who dared to venture back 
into what very properly might have been called "the 
dark and bloody ground"; and I must say that the 
authorities were more lenient in carrying out the order 
than the general was iu making it. The clause which 
declared that all grain and hay at a distance from garri- 
sons should be destroyed, I think was never carried out. 

About a week after locating on Crooked River in Ray 
County, I and my brother and daughter (Mrs. Tate) 
returned to the vicinity of Mount Hope (Odessa) and carried 
to our temporary home what goods we had stored there; 
and about a week later I and my daughter returned to 
Chapel Hill and obtained hers. 

About the first of November I returned with my son 
and daughter to my farm and collected together as many 
of our cattle and hogs as were not too wild and unruly to 
drive, and dro^^e them out of the doomed and wasting 
territory; sold the hogs near Ivcxington, and drove the 
cattle to Ray. On all of these trips I saw men in arms, 
on each side; the guerrillas by twos and threes, and the 
Union soldiers in larger bodies; but fortunately, I was 
not molested by either party. Many other refugees, also, 
ventured back as I did, to seek and to save some of the 
necessaries of life. Most of those who did so were women 
and small boys, they being less liable to suffer violence 
than men. 

When I arrived in sight of my home, after leaving it 
under such disagreeable circumstances, I was agreeably 
surprised to meet with some of the women and boys that 
I had left in company with on that memorable 6th of 
September. Some of Mr. Hunter's, Cave's, and Ousley's 
families were there for the purpose of driving off" the live 
stock that had been abandoned or left behind. And again 
I was, perhaps, of some help to them, and I know they 



WHAT I SAW OF ORDER NUMBER ELEVEN. II9 

were a great help to me, as we drove our stock oflf 
together. 

Those who have never witnessed a similar scene can 
not realize how lonely and how desolate everything 
appeared. While the presence of domestic animals, the 
crowing of domestic fowls, would indicate that the coun- 
try was inhabited, everything else spoke of desolation and 
ruin. Dogs appeared to have transformed themselvts 
into wolves; a calf had been killed in my door-yard and 
they were feasting upon its body. 

The winter passed, and the scattered exiles banished 
by Order No. 1 1 , though exempted from many of the 
alarms and anoyances to which they had been subjected 
at home by the depredations of men in arms and the 
bloody deeds of violence so often occurring, were never- 
theless exiles and sojourners in a land of strangers, and 
away from the scenes of former happiness and cherished 
homes, which they could not and did not wish to forget. 

In March, 1864, General Brown, then in command of 
the district, issued another general order, which was also 
numbered II, proclaiming that loyal men and families, 
by making proof of loyalty and getting permits from com- 
manding oflB.cers at certain posts, might return to their 
homes. A limited number did so, and returned with 
much fear and trembling; but by far the greater number 
felt that it would be unsafe to trust themselves back 
again where they had experienced so much of bitter 
partisan strife and so many scenes of blood, and where 
some had personal and political enemies. Only a few 
families returned to any neighborhood and in some locali- 
ties none. On the 5th of April, with my family, includ- 
ing my daughter and her children, I arrived at my home, 
having been absent seven months. Enough corn and 
wheat remained unconsumed to subsist on until a crop 
could be made; some few hogs were also left. My farm, 
too, remained, the buildings and fencing much less dam- 
aged than I had expected. Such, however, was not the 
case with all; for hundreds of farms, or at least the build- 
ings and fencing upon them, in the western part of the 
county and on the large prairies, were entirely consumed 
by the prairie fires of the preceding autumn. Some, on 
their return, found mothing but the naked land — build- 



I20 RURAL RHYMES AND OIvDEN TIMES. 

iugs, orchards, fences all gone. Of those neighbors who 
left in company with me, none retnrned until the war 
was nearly over and tranquility was partially restored. 
They all, however, ultimately returned; some of them 
are now living on their former homes. Old Mr. Hunter, 
now in his 94th year, the oldest man in the township, 
and with one or two exceptions the oldest man in the 
county, is still alive (1882), on his old farm, on which he 
located in 1836 His daughter, Mrs. Cave, owns a part 
of it and lives there also, and Mrs. Ousley is on her 
former home. My then nearest neighbor, Jacob Bennett, 
who was in Ohio when the order was promulgated, and 
whose family left with us, is still my nearest neighbor, 
each of us on the same farm occupied before the war. 
When he read, while in Ohio, the famous Order No. 1 1 
(issued by one of Ohio's favored sons), requiring that all 
persons in Jackson County should leave it, and knowing, 
as he did, how hard it would be to get transportation, and 
unwilling to trust himself back in a country from which 
he had fled to avoid compulsory service on one or the 
other side of the struggle, he employed a brother-in-law 
to start at once and convey his family to him in Ohio. I 
met with that gentleman quite recently, and had from his 
own lips an account of what he saw and witnessed of 
Order No. 11 while on that errand; which account, or a 
synopsis of it, I give, in connection with my own, as near 
as I can in his own language. Speaking of the occur- 
ences of the 6th of September, he said: 

"I came very near being with you in that tragedy, 
and if I had been left to myself and had had my own way, 
no doubt would have been. 

" When my brother-in-law emploj'ed me to repair to 
Missouri and escort his wife and children to him in Ohio, 
I obtained from the military authorities at Cleveland 
papers of protection that would pass, me safely through 
the Federal lines to Missouri. Arriving at Hamilton, on 
the Hannibal & St. Joe Railroad,! obtained passage to lyCx- 
ington; and on arriving there, and even before, the effects 
and the consequences of Order No. 1 1 were apparentin the 
moving masses of wretched fugitives. The roads were full 
of them', and the ferry-boat was crowded with them, pass- 
ing to the north of the river; and the streets of the town 



WHAT I SAW OF ORDER NUMBKR KIvEVEN. 121 

were scarcely ever clear of them. I arrived in lyexington 
on Friday, the 4th, intending to go to lyone Jack the next 
day, make my preparations on Sunday, and start back on 
Monday; but Providence ordered otherwise. On going 
to the office of the provost of the place, whose name I 
think was Johnson, and telling him my business and ask- 
ing for a passport to your part of the country, he told me 
he could give me what I asked for, but that it would dome 
no good; and he dissuaded me from what he called the 
foolhardy attempt to reach I^one Jack at that time. 'The 
country,' said he, 'up there is full of guerrillas, and a 
Federal passport in your pocket would insure your death 
from them. Besides, there are numerous scouting parties 
of Union soldiers, and you will not know one from the 
other, and will not be able to tell whose company you 
are in, as they are so much in the habit of playing off on 
the citizens and on strangers.' 

" I told him that mine was an urgent case of neces- 
sity ; that I had come for my sister-in-law and her family; 
the time was short ; that she could not remain long where 
she was, and that in a few days I would not know where 
to find her ; and that though my path might be full of 
danger, I must pursue that path. After a few more dis- 
suasions, he gave me the required pass, and I left the 
office to seek some mode of conveyance. In a short time 
I met the provost on the street, and he again cautioned 
me as to the danger I was running into. I asked him if 
he thought, in the event of my going on, I stood an even 
chance for life. 'No,' said he, 'not one chance in fifty. 
The country is full of our enemies ; this town is full of 
spies, who give them information. Your business here 
is already known. You are a Northern man, and hence 
obnoxious to the guerrilas. You are attempting to re- 
trieve those who by our men are regarded as rebels, and 
hence an object of suspicion by them. And again, a 
man of your appearance and on your business is reason- 
ably supposed to have money with him ; and there are 
men in our army and in our service, as well as on the 
other side, who, when from under the eye of their ofiicer, 
would murder you for five dollars or less. Take my ad- 
vice,' said he, 'and remain here. There are citizen 
refugees passing to and from that neighborhood almost 



122 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

every day. You can send word to your sister that you 
are here prapared to take her to her husband, and she 
will find some way to get here ; and then you will be in 
no danger. She can come to you, when you cannot go 
to her.' 

"In a few minutes I met your neighbor, Mr. Ambers 
Graham, and he told me he was well acquainted with Mr. 
Bennett and wife, and could send her word immediately, 
and that he knew she would hail the news with joy and 
come at once. I accordingly took the advice given, and 
remained in lyexington and vicinity some days ; and while 
there I experienced more of the horrors of war than I 
had done in all the years of the war in Ohio. A con- 
stant stream of emigrants or fugitives — men, women, and 
children were constantly passing through the town and 
down to the ferry-boat ; and I spent hours in assisting 
women and children who had no man with them down 
the steep river bank and onto the ferry-boat, with their 
crazy vehicles and their few cattle and sheep ; and heard 
them hurriedly recount their sufferings and hardships 
during the war, and of this, the greatest hardship of all. 
A Mr. Shaw, a short distance south of town, who was 
acquainted in your vicinity, having heard of me and my 
mission, sent me an invitation to make his house my 
home until Mrs. Bennett arrived, which I did; and on 
the first night had an experience which I suppose was 
common at that time in your part of the country. About 
nine or ten o'clock, the house was surrounded by about 
twenty men, supposed, but not certainly known, to be 
guerrillas, and Mr. Shaw was called for. After some 
remonstrance from me and another gentleman present, 
he went out ; but the men, whoever they were, had en- 
countered a negro man, who informed them that there 
were several men in the house well armed, and when Mr. 
Shaw went out they were in the act of leaving. 

" In the forenoon of Monday, I, as well as the whole 
town, was startled with the news of the tragedy at L,one 
Jack, and learned that my sister-in-law's father, her two 
uncles, a cousin, and two other near neighbors and rela- 
tives had been killed; and later in the day, that Mrs. Ben- 
nett, in company with you and the other survivors, was 
on the way to lyexington — and the rest you know." 



WHAT I SAW OF ORDER NUMBER ELEVEN. 1 23 

Taking up the thread of my narrative now where I 
left off: It was about twelve o'clock, on Monday, when 
near Mount Hope, we met my neighbor, Jacob Yankee, 
whose farm joined mine on the north, who informed Mrs. 
Bennett that her brother-in-law was at I^exington waiting 
for her, and that he was prepared to escort her to her 
husband. My neighbor had heard, before meeting us, of 
the bloody scenes of the day before, and was very much 
distressed. I thought he had left with his family on Sat- 
urday, but such was not the case ; he had left with a load 
of goods himself, to convey them to a home that he had 
secured near Lexington, but his wife, with a niece, was 
yet at home, the only persons then remaining in that 
part of the county ; and he was returning alone to carry 
them to a place of more security. Weighed down with 
anxiety on their account, as well as fear for. his own safety, 
he then and there appealed to Mrs. Bennett to return 
with him as a kind of life-guard (as women were called 
in those days), men thinking that their lives would be 
more secure if accompanied by women and children ; 
promising that if she would do so, he would then carry 
her and hers to where her brother-in-law was in waiting, 
and assist her in taking care of or shipping her property 
to Ohio. She accordingly returned with him to his home, 
where they arrived late in the afternoon, and found Mrs. 
Yankee and her niece in their loneliness, entirely ignor- 
ant of all that occurred in the vicinity during the last 
forty-eight hours, not having seen a single person since 
Saturday. That lady afterwards told me that she and her 
niece spent that Sunday and part of Monday in remov- 
ing farming and other implements, a large lot of pine and 
other lumber, and other articles stored in the barn, as well 
as some things from the dwelling, to a safe distance away, 
so that in the event of those buildings being burned, as 
she expected would be done, that all would not be burned 
together. And so it was with almost all of us; we left 
our homes with the expectation that when we should 
return (if ever we did) they would be in ashes ; and with 
many such was the case. I have given this imperfect 
sketch, not as a history of that celebrated order and its 
varied incidents in those three counties, but only as a 
remembrance of what I saw of that order and its conse- 



■^ 



124 RURAI, RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

queuces; and as much as I saw and suffered, others may 
have seen and suffered much more ; and all, perhaps, wilt 
concur in saying that this was one of the dark pages in 
their life's history. 



A TALK OF THE OLDEN TIME IN 
INDEPENDENCE. 



BY CRAZY BEN. 

' Twas an autumn's eve, and he sat there alone. 
On the court-house steps of the gray limestone ; 
And slowly and sadly his eyes would turn 
From side to side, as if to discern 
Some wished-for site — some well-known ground — 
A spot long sought, but not yet found. 

So piteous he looked, as he sat there alone, 

You'd have said every joy of his life had flown ; 

His hair was gray, and his cheeks were thin, 

And the furrows were deep where the rose had been ; 

His trembling limbs, too, plainly spoke 

The sufferings caused by the palsy-siroke. 

And there, as he sat on the steps of stone. 

Unknowing, as it seemed, and all unknown, 

He heeded them not — the jest and the laugh ; 

But resting his hands on a well-worn staff. 

He earnestly gazed on the by-passing face. 

As though he were seeking some feature to trace ; 

And his head he would shake, as the face he would scan. 

As though he had said, " It can't be the man." 

He gazed upon all, and he spake unto none, 

But muttered to himself, or an unseen one. 

He would sometimes weep, he would smile or frown ; 

I listened to his words, and I penned them down : 

I^et us sit here now, on this stone. Old Ben; 
We will talk a while of the long past then, 
For to talk of the past is an old man's bliss ; 
But tell me first, what town is this ? 
Independence, you say ? You are surely wrong ; 



. OLDEN TIME IN INDEPENDENCE. 1 25 

Have I been away from my home so long 

As not to remember a single street, 

A single. house, or a face that I meet? 

Then tell me where did the court-house stand ? 

Right here, do j^ou say? and this edifice grand 

Has taken its place -how queer! how queer! 

Aladdin, with his lamp, must have been here. 

And changed the village I one time knew 

To a town so large^ with a railroad through ! 

'Tis a landscape new, and 'tis strangely drawn, 

And the men and the things that I knew are gone. 

Ah ! don't you remember it now. Old Ben, 

How we and some others came here, and when — 

At the time we moved to wild frontier, 

And worked the road from the Blue Mills here ? 

Oh, yes, I know you remember it yet ; 

I think of it oft, and I can't forget ; 

'Twas a frontier town, and the stumps then stood 

Where the trees had grown in the grand old wood ; 

And if this is the same old public square, 

I remember it well ; just across over there. 

At the northeast corner, in its grandeur, stood 

The tavern, then kept by old Uncle Wood ; * 

And a small yellow house, north side of the square, 

And Lucas and Kavanaugh sold goods there ; 

While Sam C. Owens (you remember him, Ben) 

Was selling at the southwest corner then ; 

Mose Wilson on the west, on the south Flournoy — • 

These were the merchants here then, old boy. 

In front of us there, on the south of the street, 

A dram-shop stood, with the sign " Retreat"; 

And if every place where vice lies hid 

Would give us a warning, as that one did. 

And we should retreat from the danger there, 

Perhaps we'd escape from many a snare. 

But different meanings we ofttimes find 

To the self-same word ; and many were inclined 

To repair to that house, on the south of the street. 

From sorrow and toil as a pleasant retreat. 

*Smallwood Noland. 



126 RURAI. RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

Ah, yes ! we must own to the truth, Old Ben, 
We entered that grocery dram-shop then; 
'Twas the first house here, in the town, you know. 
That received our feet in the long ago. 

But where, O where is that dram-shop, Ben, 

And where are the faces we saw here then? 

You remember Jim Reynolds (the bar-keeper's name), 

And the trick that was played with the landlord's game; 

But where is he now ? Dead ! dead ! did you say ? 

And the men that we saw there have all passed away. 

What year was that, did you ask ? Let me see — 

'Twas the fall of the year, in the year thirty-three, 

At the time that the Mormons were driven away. 

And crossed o'er the river and settled in Clay. 

Oh, yes; I know you remember it well — 

A short time before those meteors fell. 

When it seemed to the wondering — scared ones all — 

That every star from the heavens would fall. 

It's been a long time; but it sometimes seems 

As if but a night of troublesome dreams. 

From which I awake as from off a hard bed. 

To find that my youth and my manhood have fled ; 

To find that of all that I knew here then 

Not one can I see but you. Old Ben. 

Sam Owens was killed, did you say? what for? 

Killed! oh, yes; in the Mexican War. 

Sam lyUcas is gone, and good Kavanaugh too, 

Flournoy and Wilson —how sad and how true ! 

Hicks, Chiles, and Brazael, the lawyers, 'tis said, 

Have all passed away — all, all of them dead ! 

And the Governor, Bogg^, lies lowly in death, 

With Baker, the hatter, and Modie, the smith. 

All, all of them gone, the rich and the poor. 

And places that knew them will know them no more. 

All these, and hundreds of others beside. 

The old pioneers, have gone with the tide ; 

Borne away by the stream resistless in force. 

The River of Death, in its swift onward course. 

Oh, what are the changes that Time has not made 
Since first I came here to work at my trade ! 



OI,DEN TIME IN INDEPENDENCE. 1 27 

In fancy, I see my shop,' east of the square — 

I sought it to-day ,'^but no shop is now there; 

I sought for the house where Matilda and I 

So happily lived in the seasons gone by ; 

I sought it in vain; oh, Ben, 'twas in vain! 

That house and Matilda I'll ne'er see again. 

Oh, Ben ! Old Ben! can you not call to mind. 

When leaving my home and Matilda behind, 

With her three little children — ah, woe to that day! 

Far, far to the west, I wandered away? 

lyike the prodigal son, all reckless I went. 

And like him I lived until all had been spent. 

And now I am here to find everything changed; 

The past seems a dream, my mind is deranged; 

In pity, in mercy, oh, tell me, Old Ben ! 

Shall I ever more meet with Matilda again? 

Dead! dead! did you say? of a broken heart died 

Full thirty years since. In the grave let me hide — 
My griefs and my sorrows be buried with me. 
But my son, little George — oh, say, where is he? 
Grew up, you say, a most promising youth — • 
You falter. Old Ben— just tell me the truth; 
Ah ! fell in the great Civil War, do you say? 
Then where, oh, where is my dear daughter, May? 
By the side of her mother, twenty j^ears has she lain, 
By consumption, relentless destroyer, slain! 
Oh, Ben, I'm bereft, alone, all alone! 
My hopes are all blasted, my treasures have flown; 
My life is a burthen, beneath which I bow; 
There's nothing on earth to detain me here now. 
What, what do you say? little Mary alive? 
And can she and does she those others survive? 
That wee little darling that hung on the breast 
Of a mother when I wandered off to the West ; 
That dear little baby, you say, is alive — 
Don't smile at me, Ben— she's full thirty-five; 
But tell me, do tell me, where now does she live? 
And can she and will she a father forgive? 
In the name of her mother, my pardon declare. 
And bid me to hope for a meeting up there? 
Then let me go forward, no danger can daunt — 
She lives in the country, you say, with an aunt. 



1.28 RURAI, RHYMBS AND OI.DEN TIMES. 

My good brother's widow —oh, what have you said ! 
I had but one brother — and he, too, is dead? 
Oh, Death ! cruel Death ! how busy you've been 
Since I went away in my folly and sin ! 
The friends of my youth are all passing away. 
And alone in my darkness I'm standing to-day. 

But who is that, Ben, that is passing us now; 

With a good, honest face and a high, manly brow? 

I surely have found an acquaintance at last — 

Tell me. Old Ben, was it John R. that passed? 

Not him, do you say! who can it be then? 

Who else can it be, if it's not Swearingen? 

His son! ah, indeed! do tell me the truth; 

If it's Bird, then I knew him when he was a youth. 

Not Bird! Is he dead, and his father also? 

And this man, you say, is a younger son, Joe; 

And he, like his father, in penmanship skilled. 

Is filling the office his father once filled. 

But tell me. Old Ben, has he the same skill 

That his father, John, had with the gray goose-quill? 

But the goose-quill pen, since you say it, I know 

Has gone out of fashion a long time ago. 

But is Josey as ready and quick with a pen? 

Can he talk while he writes, as his father did then? 

And is he a Whig, as his father before? 

But now I remember that party's no more. 

How everything changes! But who is that there? 

It seems as if I had seen him somewhere. 

'Tis Lucas, you say; oh, Ben, it can't be! 

That can't be the general, Samuel D., 

Whose features are yet in my memory plain. 

For I served under him in the Mormon campaign. 

'Tis Charley, you say; and the general's gone; 
Generations pass off, and others come on. 
But is Charles as polite and as affable, Ben, 
As, you must remember, his father was then? 

You say 'bout the same, and he has his rewards; 
He holds the same office, and keeps the records; 
Those old ancient records I would like to see, Ben, 
Which the general wrote with his goose-quill pen. 



OI^DEN TIMB IN INDKPENDENCK. 1 29 

There's an old book of marriages there, I'll be bound! 
Where the names of Matilda and Ben may be found. 

And now, while I think of it, tell, if you can. 
Where is that preacher, that pious, good man, 
Not gifted with learning nor gifted in gab. 
Who married us then, plain, honest Joab? 

Ah, yes! I remember, we'll see him no more; 
lyong since he moved off to the Oregon shore, '. 

There finished the work by the Master assigned, 
Departed and left us his record behind. 

But who is that standing up there by the door? 
I think I have seen those features before — 
Bob Rickman, you say ; is it possible, Ben, 
I've met one at last that I knew here then? 
But, oh, how he's changed! his head is now hoar; 
I first saw him, Ben in the year thirty-four. 
He ran for the State lyCgislature, you know, 
'Gainst Noland, and Jeffries, and Richard Fristoe; 
But they are all gone, and he is here still, 
Descending, like me, Ivife's western side-hill. 

Sad relics. Old Ben, are we of the past, 

lyast leaves on the tree, awaiting the blast 

That shall bear us to earth, and hurry us on 

To mingle with those who before us have gone. 

He is passing us by — speak to him, you say? 

No, no! not at present, but some other day; 

lyCt me sit here alone, unknown, on this spot; 

So long I've been gone, he remembers me not ; 

And perhaps there are none who knew me here then, 

Would claim an acquaintance with Old Crazy Ben. 

But who is that, walking along in such pain — 
That crippled man hobbling along with a cane? 
He looks at me now as if he would know 
Whether he ever had seen me or no ; 
His face is familiar to me, and it seems 
As one long departed, who comes back in dreams; 
Reuben Harris — oh, yes! I thought it might be; 
But he, too, is changed; and yet it is he. 



I30 RURAL, RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

Dame Fortune has been unkind unto hira, — 

Enfeebled in body and crippled in limb, 

He totters along, as you see that he does. 

And seems but the shadow of what he once was. 

I remember the first time I saw him, Old Ben, 

And he was assessing the revenue then ; 

An officer true of the country was he. 

For he ran against Watkins and beat him by three. 

Ifow great are life's changes, — how many since then ! 

Hfe's a poor cripple now, and I'm Crazy Ben. 

I think of those things in the days long ago, 

I'm thinking of friends in the grave lying low; 

My memory runs, and it scarce ever lags— 

I think of the Staytons, the Irvins, and Greggs, 

Of Davis, and Lewis, and Anderson, too, 

Of Majors, and Staples, and Parson, Fitzhugh, 

The Powells, the Bakers, the Webbs, and the Kings — 

A long list of names, and hundreds of things ; 

My mind so beclouded still backward is drawn, 

I think of those things, but alas ! they are gone. 

Where do I live, is that what you ask? 

To answer that question is no easy task; 

I'm houseless, I'm homeless, no board and no bed. 

And, like the great Master, no place for my head. 

From place unto place I wandering go. 

And where I shall sleep to-night, I don't know ; 

I think they're discussing that question in there — 

The county court judges — I hear that they are; 

And when 'tis decided, you'll know it. Old Ben, 

And where I'm to go, and the how and the when. 

The county, they say, has a farm somewhere. 



And I hear they are talking of sending me there ; \ 

In plainer words yet— to the poor-house, Ben. % 

Oh ! who would have thought of such a thing, when, \ 

In the morning of life, with the garland of truth, ? 

I came to this town in the bloom of my youth ; j 
When here with Matilda I lived at my ease, 

And contracted my habits of ill by degrees ! ^ 

And now let me say but a word to the boys — M 
A word to the youth who are seeking for joys, 



RUTH AND NAOMI. I3I 

And seeking life's dangers and sorrows to shun : 
Do not in the path of the sinful ones run ; 
Take heed, young man, take heed to your feet. 
Beware of that house with the sign "Retreat "; 
Retreat, retreat from the gay salooon, 
Or the night may come before it is noon ! 

And now. Old Ben, let me say farewell 
To the place where Matilda and I did d well ; 
Farewell to the town, farewell to the place ! 
I soon will have run life's changing race, — 
The doors of the poor-house soon will close 
And shut me up with my griefs and woes ; 
And when from its gates I am borne again, 
'Twill be the last of Old Crazy Ben ! 



RUTH AND NAOMI. 



"My daughters, Ruth and Orpah, list to Naomi now : 
We stand on Moab's border, on Nebo's eastern brow ; 
Your country lies behind us, my country lies before ; 
I'm going there, dear daughters, and I'll return no more. 
The lyord, I hear, has visited the nation that he led 
Up from the land of Egypt, and given his people bread. 
Ten years have passed, and bitterly the Lord hath dealt 

with me — 
No longer now Naomi, but Marah let me be ; 
I came out full of good things, in Moab to sojourn, 
But I have been afflicted, and empty I return. 
My daughters, Ruth and Orpah, a sorrowful adieu ! 
Ivike me, you've borne affliction, and you are widowed too. 
Return unto your country, to where your mothers dwell. 
And in your mothers' dwelling, may God reward you well ; 
Requite you for your kindness to me and to the dead, 
And give you other husbands in your Hebrew husbands' 

stead. 

"Say not, my weeping daughters, that you will go with me 
Unto my land and people ; it ought not so to be. 



132 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

Turn, turn again, my daughters ; no other sons have I, 

That you can take for husbands, either now or by and by ; 

And even should I have children, say, would you tarry 
then. 

And wait for them as husbands, till they were grown to 
men? 

Nay, nay, my loving daughters ; for your sakes I'm griev- 
ing sore, 

That the hand of God's against me, and may be evermore." 

Then Orpah kissed Naomi, and sorrowing did go ; 
But what became of Orpah the world will never know. 

To Ruth then spake Naomi: "Your sister-in-law has 

gone 
Back to her gods and people, and the grave of Chilion. 
Return thou after Orpah unto your native land ; 
I would not be a burden upon my daughter's hand." 

But Ruth, the Moabitess, by faith divinely led. 

Still clave unto Naomi, and thus to her she said : 

" Entreat me not to leave thee, for that may never be ; 

I'll quit, although it grieve me, my native land with thee ; 

By the love that I have borne thee, the love I bore the 

dead. 
By the vows that I have sworn thee, I'll do as I have 

said ! 
For the love I bore to Mahlon, and the love he bore to me, 
Shouldst thou go to far Aijalon, there will I go with thee ! 
I may not, cannot tarry my kindred folks among ; 
Where e'er you go, you'll carry your daughter Ruth 

along ; 
Whatever be your country, that country shall be mine ; 
Whatever gods are worshiped, I'll worship only thine ; 
Wherever j^ou may tarry, I'll lodge or tarry too ; 
Wherever you're sojourning, you'll find me there with 

you ; 
Wherever you are living, my home will be there too. 
Naught, naught but death shall part us, or sever me from 

you ; 
Wherever death may find you, there too will I be found; 
And there will I be buried, in the same burial-ground. 



RUTH AND NAOMI. I33 

" Speak not to me of husbands that you cannot supply ; 

I'll live 'mongst Mahlon's kindred ; I have no stronger tie. 

There's something seems to whisper, as from the spirit 
land, 

That my name will yet be famous in Israel's famous land ; 

That the house of Mahlon's kindred shall yet be builded 
fair ; 

L,ike Rachel and like Leah, I shall help to build it there. 

It tells me, from my lineage shall come a royal king. 

And from the Moabitess a race of princes spring ; 

That in the far-off future, from the Moabitish stem 

Shall rise a star of glory — the Star of Bethlehem ; 

A prince shall reign in righteousness, his banner be un- 
furled ; 

He shall be known and worshiped as the Savior of the 
world; 

That countries undiscovered and nations yet unborn 

Shall sing Messiah's praises in eternity's bright morn. 

Kntreat me not to leave thee, for that may never be ; 

Naught, naught but death shall part us, or sever you 
and me." 

So Naomi ceased to reason, so steadfast then was Ruth, 
And she deemed those spirit whispers were an inspira- 
tion's truth ; 
And lovingly together those two, from day to day. 
Across the Dead Sea desert, pursued their lonely way. 
Although 60 lone and sorrowful, His eye was over them. 
And at the barley harvest they came to Bethlehem ; 
And all the city wondered the spectacle to see, 
And said, " Is this Naomi, so pleasant once, and free?" 
But Naomi answered saying, " No longer pleasant now, 
For bitterness a:nd anguish are written on my brow; 
With husband and with children I went out to sojourn. 
But the Lord who gave has taken, and empty I return, 
With none to share my sorrows but a Moabitish friend; 
And though the Lord deals bitterly, I'll trust him to 
the end." 

But the rest of this strange story of Naomi and of Ruth 
You'll find in Hebrew scriptures, the eternal Word of 
truth : 



134 RURAI, RHYMKS AND OLDKN TIMES. 

How Ruth became the wife of a noble, great and grand, 
And from them sprang the monarchs that reigned o'er 

Judah's land. 
And from the race of princes a mightier prince arose, 
The Christ, the great Messiah, whose reign will never 

close. 



THE CARRIER-BOY'S ADDRESS. 



New Year, 1881. 

Kind patrons and friends, in this season of joys 
You are looking, perhaps, for the carrier-boys 

To appear with a New Year's Address ; 
You are saving your quarters, your nickels and dimes. 
To pay the young chap for his doggerel rhymes, 

And the papers he brings from the press. 

Look out for me, then, I am coming with mine, 
And I hope and I trust that its every line 

A moral or truth will contain ; , 

That my youthful effusions by all will be read, \ 

That by every friend in the land 'twill be said, j 

" His effort has not been in vain." \ 

I 

A Walker I've been ever since I was born. ■ 

I walk through your town upon Saturday morn 

To distribute the news of the week ; 
You've welcomed me often within the past year, .^ 

When bringing your paper, so full of good cheer, 

And I know you'll permit me to speak. 

The year eighteen hundred and eighty has gone ; 
To a close has the year and its doings been drawn, 

And 'tis numbered with those of the past. 
Another is taking its place, my dear friends, 
But what it foreshadows, or what it portends. 

Not one of us now can forecast. 

We are certain of one thing : that sunshine and rain, 
And joy and sorrow, and pleasure and pain. 
Alternate will come and prevail ; 



THE CARRIKR-BOY'S ADDRKSS. 135 

The winter, the summer, the heat and the cold, 
Will come and will leave us ; but yet we are told 
That seed-time and harvest ne'er fail. 

'Tis not my intention to speak of the dead — 

The year that's departed, the months that have fled — 

Their lives or their deedfe to condemn ; 
Whatever is wrong or amiss — let it go ; 
It might have been worse ; and one thing we know 

For much we are thankful to them. 

Ah, yes ! we are thankful for much that's been done, 
And hopeful, quite hopeful, for some things begun, 

That some future day may complete; 
Though all is not roses, there's sometimes a flower ; 
Though days maybe cloudy, there's sometimes an hour 

Of sunshine and happiness sweet. 

We've had disappointments and failures to mourn, 
Bereavement of friends, and afflictions we've borne, 

But that is the lot of mankind ; 
The past is behind us, the future before ; 
Let us hope and press forward, and hope evermore 

Success in the end we may find. 

Our country's improving, the town's building up. 
And, thanks to kind Heaven, a bountiful crop 

Is blessing the country at large ; 
And though I must tell you the truth with regret. 
Though hundreds and thousands are burthened with 
debt, 

There's a prospect those debts to discharge. 

Though partial defeat at the polls we have met, 
The whole is not lost ; there is hope for us yet — 

No note of despondence we lisp ; 
The world is still moving, the people will rule, 
Though part of them lately have acted the fool — 

You think now of Allen and Crisp. 

But this is all over; some lessons we learn. 
And now from political matters we turn, 
And things of more moment discuss — 



136 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES- 

The topic of morals, and knowledge, and such 
Educational themes as are dwelt upon much, 
And are ever of moment to us. 

•But 'tis not becoming for one of my age 
In lectures on topics like these to engage. 

Of knowledge or morals to preach ; 
. By men who are older and know so much more, 
Who have travelled the road, and have gone on before, 
I would rather be taught than to teach. 

Presumption indeed it would be in a boy. 

Who scarcely is weaned from his rattles and toy, 

To tender advice to the old ; 
Much better 'twould be for a boy, I think. 
To list to the counsels of age, from the brink 

Of that river that's flowing so cold. 

In place, then, of talking to teach you, I pray 
lyCt me talk to you now in my plain, simple M^ay, 

Some lessons of wisdom to learn; 
You once were a boy like me, I suppose ; '^ ii^ 

Kxperience has taught you some lessons, and thdse 

You can teach to a boy in turn. 

Ah, yes ! you old settlers can tell me of mucb. 

And warn me 'gainst things that I never should touch. 

Or tell me of Nature's great laws ; 
While standing together on hurricane deck, 
• You can point me to many, ah ! many a wreck, 

And tell me of what was the cause. 

Perhaps you could tell me of many a boy. 
The pride of his father, a mother's chief joy, 

Who promised much fairer than I : 
And point to the spot where his pathway was crossed. 
And he took the wrong road, and went on and was lost ; 

And tell me the how, and the why. 

There's nothing that pleases me more than to hear 
The tales that are told by the old pioneer, 

The last of the pioneer band — 
The things that he saw, and things that he did, 
His toilings, and sufferings, and struggles amid 

The wilds of a wilderness land. 



THK CARRIER-BOY S ADDRESS. 1 37 

I love to hear now the old veteran tell 

Of the time that he came to the county to dwell, 

When the track of the Indian was here ; 
When his cabin was small, and the furniture rude, 
And he roamed as a hunter the wild solitude, 

And brought home the turkey and deer. 

Ah, yes ! it is pleasing, instructive as well. 
To list to the tales of old time that they tell, 

When the town in a forest was hid ; 
How settlements grew on the western frontier, 
The town was laid out, and the Mormons came here, 

And the reason they left as they did. 

It is pleasing, old settlers, to listen to you, 

Of the men who came here when the country was new, 

Not of toil or of danger afraid ; 
You tell of the merchants of long time ago : 
Sam Owens, McCoy, and others you know. 

Who built up the Santa Fe trade. 

You oftentimes speak of that Santa Fe trade. 

And the fortunes some Mexican merchants then made; 

But. that trade is a thing of the past. 
Those Santa Fe wagons, those Santa Fe teams. 
That army of mule and ox drivers, it seems 

By the Iron Horse now is displaced. 

But some of those drivers of oxen still live, 
And many a story to us they could give 

Of their travels across the great plain ; 
And none more astonished would be than would they, 
Could they visit those once desert regions to-day. 

And see them, with fields growing grain. 

The old folks will talk, and I listen the while. 
Half amused at the homely and primitive style 

When they settled their preemption claim ; 
The ladies were wearing their homespun, you know. 
And the ploughboy's pants were of cotton and tow. 

And his shirt — well, his shirt was the same. 

The pants of the hunter were linsey or jeans, 
With the deer-skin foxed — you know what it means ; 
Independent he looked and he felt; 



138 RURAI, RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

And there was his coat — we need not to sneer — 
'Twas a hunting-shirt made from the skin of the deer, 
With a butcher-knife stuck in the belt. 

Another will tell of the primitive style 

Of cooking and eating, and cause us to smile, 

Who never have witnessed such things ; 
But the johnny-cake board and the venison ham 
No longer are seen, hanging up in the jamb, 

Nor the pot-rack in chimney-place swings. 

There are ladies in town — I know there is one 
Can tell us exactly how such things were done ; 

She has not forgotten ; although 
Independence has grown to be quite a place, 
And she has grown with it in knowledge and grace, 

She remembers the long time ago. 

The old veteran lives in the county to-day 
Who cut the first logs for a cabin, they say. 

On the Temple I^ot, west of the square ; 
How many the changes he's witnessed since then ! 
How many the changes in things and in men 

Since cutting those cabin-logs there ! 

Though hid away now in the Sni-a-bar Hills, 
He remembers it all, and his bosom yet thrills 

As he tells us the stories of yore ; 
Fifty odd years since then has he passed. 
And down the decline he is hurrying fast, 

And soon he will tell them no more. 

Another thing, too, I am pleased to hear told: 
How social they were in the good days of old. 

When all was not selfishness quite ; 
lyOg-rollings, house-raisings, and corn-huskings too. 
When youngsters would labor the winter's day through. 

And play "Sister Phebe" at night. 

In fancy I sometimes am carried back there, 

And I almost could wish, and I sometimes would dare, 

To live as a pioneer too; 
In fancy I oftentimes picture the men 
I have heard of so often, who made their mark then, 

Those worthies, so braye and so true. 



THE carrier-boy's addres.s. 139 

Those old-fashioned preachers —ah! what was the name? 
Yes, Savage, and Powell — I've oft heard of them — 

Quite different from some preachers now; 
McKinny, and Ferrill, and Nelson, you know — 
Stayton, and Warder, and Gabriel Fitzhugh — 

Plain preachers who followed the plow. 

Those little school-houses they built in the wood — 
You tell me of them, and where some of them stood ; 

You remember those rough benches yet. 
And you point me to some of our prominent men, 
Who sat upon them — they were small shavers then — 

And learned lessons they '11 never forget. 

You tell me that teachers — professors they 're classed — 
Now sneer at the old-fogy schools of the past, 

Where you and your children were taught ; 
And bless their good stars, that they live in those days 
When the bright sun of knowledge is shedding its rays, 

And those rays are more easily caught. 

Although you say little, I know by your wink 

Some things you would say, or at least what you think, 

'Bout the old and the new fashioned schools ; 
You are thinking, perhaps, of what ^sop once said, 
Which you in your spelling-books long ago read, 

That young folks think old ones are fools. 

You say there are men, and you whisper the name 
Of some, who professors in college could shame, 

In science and good solid lore. 
Who attended no schools but the old- fogy ones, 
In the little school-houses away from the towns, 

By teachers that we would style poor. 

You point to the many improvements now made. 
Of which we are boasting, and ask us who laid 

The foundation, and builded thereon; 
You ask us, when fifty more years have been told. 
And the boy who sneers at old fogies is old, 

If improvements like this will go on. 

Will the next fifty years in the calendar tell 
A tale of improvement, to those who may dwell 
In the country at that future day, 



140 RURA.I, RHYMES AND OI.DEN TIMKS. 

As strange and instructive as that which is told 
By the last fifty years, in which pioneers old 
Have acted their parts in life's play ? 

But I 've wearied you now with my gossip, I fear ; 
I'll return to my subject, the Happy New Year, 

That is dawning upon us to-day ; 
Hope many returns of the day you '11 enjoy — 
Full many you 've witnessed of them since, a boy, 

You hailed it in lands far away. 

And now to the patrons, still younger in years, 
Whose life and whose prospect so rosy appears, 

A word from the Sentinel boy : 
A Sentmel place at the door of your heart. 
That will speak of the danger and warnings impart 

Of the lessons that tend to destroy. 

I^et the Sentinel also, by Walker and Payne, 
Have a place on your table — pray take it again; 

'Twill speak out, and will never be mum; 
Change not an old friend for another untried, 
lyet well enough be — never cast it aside 

For better that never may come. 

Now thanking you kindly for favors to-day^ • 
The morning is passing and I must away ; 

Long life may you each one enjoy — 
May the voyage on which you are sailing be fair. 
With a prosperous end, is the sincere prayer 

Of Willie, 

The Carrier-Boy. 



THE JEWISH PILGRIM; OR, AN AMERICAN 
JEW IN PALESTINE. 



Alone, on the hills of Judea I roam. 

And my thoughts wander back to the past, 

When these valleys and hills were the patriarchs' home. 
And their lots among gentiles were cast. 



THE JEWISH PII.GRIM. I4I 

From a far distant land, as a pilgrim I've come — 

Many yearnings of heart I have felt, 
To visit the land that was Israel's home, 

The land where my forefathers dwelt ; 

Where Abram, and Isaac, and Jacob of old, 

Among Canaanite strangers sojourned, 
And to which the tribes, under Joshua bold, 

From their bondage in Egypt returned. 

land of Judea ! thy vales are as fair, 
And thy mountains with cedars as green, 

As in days when the home of our people was there. 
Thou loved and thou lost Palestine ! 

In my home in the West, in a land far away, 

Though oceans and seas intervene. 
My dreamings by night and my musings by day 

Were of glories Judea has seen. 

Thy brooks and thy rivers are murmuring on. 
As in days when the prophets were here ; 

But thy children are scattered, thy children are gone, 
And gone are the prophets and seer. 

1 pass by the spots where the angels of old 
Conversed with the patriarchs good. 

And oft in the midst of a desert behold 
The ruins where cities once stood. 

The mountain of Lebanon still rears its head. 

And the cedars are green on its side ; 
But the glory of Israel has long ago fled. 

As the sages of old prophesied. 

O land of Judea! thine, thine are the race 

That wander, and wandering go. 
Unblessed and unhonored, in everyplace — 

No nation of theirs do they know. 

The blood of thy children, in age after age, 

Has watered the hot, burning sands ; 
Has blotted with crimson the historic page. 

And crimsoned the snow-covered lands. 



142 RURAL RHYMES AND OI.DEN TIMES. 

But Still, as they roam, in the East or the West, 
They'll turn from earth's every shrine 

To the land of our fathers, by strangers possessed, 
And yearn for the lost Palestine. 

The ages have passed and the centuries flown 
Since the plow of the gentile first marred 

The City of Zion, and forests have grown 
Where priest and the L<evite kept guard. 

The nations have fallen, and kingdoms have gone ; 

And the footsteps of Time have destroyed 
The cities of old, and in lands then unknown 

The wandering Jews are employed. 

The eagles of Rome have long ceased to soar 

Or be seen upon Moriah's hill ; 
Assyrian monarchs are heard of no more ; 

But Judah is wandering still. 

The races and nations have blended, and name 

And identity's lost, as it were ; 
But the children of Judah are ever the same. 

And Jews are Jews everywhere. 

And have they thus wandered as pilgrims in vain ? 

Their thoughts ever turned to the past; 
Long time have they wandered, in hope to regain 

And come to their home at the last. 

O land of Judea, our ancestors' home ! 

Long time have we wandering been ; 
But when all is fulfilled, we will no longer roam. 

But return unto Zion again. 

Even now a prophetical warning I hear ; 

I hear it wherever I roam ; 
It cautions the nations : Build none of you here. 

For Judah shall surely come home! 

The time is fulfilling, though long it may be, 

By prophets foreseen and foretold, 
When Judah shall cease all her wandering from th^*, 

And come home as sheep to the fold. 



AN OLD SETTLKR'S TALK. I43 

AN OLD SETTLERS TALK. 



Poem read by the author at the Old Settlers' meeting at Harrisonville, 
Cass County, Mo., September 30, 1880. 

In the autumn of life, id the evening's decline, 

As the shadows are lengthening fast, 
We meet here together, old friends of lang syne. 

To recall and to speak of the past. 

'Tis forty odd years — near fifty, I trow 

(No doubt you remember it well) — 
Since some of the men that I see here now 

First came to the county to dwell. 

Pioneers of the West, in an untrodden wild, 

A home and a resting-place sought ; 
In a wilderness land they labored and toiled, 

And we see what their labors have wrought. 

When we think of the wide-spreading prairies that lay 

In silence and grandeur so lone — 
The unbroken forest — we wonder where they, 

The prairie and forest, have gone. 

We see them not now, as we saw them of yore ; 

The trees in the groves are cut down ; 
The green sward of grass and the flowerets no more 

The vales and the sunny hills crown. 

Where are those cabins, those rude dwellings, gone? 

We look for them now all in vain ; 
The roof made of clapboards, with poles weighted down — 

We never shall see them again. 

We pass by the spot, but the cabin is not, 

And solitude silently reigns; 
A mound where the chimney stood points out the spot, 

And that is all now that remains. 

Perhaps it was there that our children had birth. 

Or sported around us in glee ; 
Those children have wandered away from the hearth — 

No cabin, no children we see. 



144 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

The cabins so rude, that we builded here then, 
Gave place unto dwellings more grand ; 

And some of those children are gray-headed men, 
Away in a far distant land. 

Ah, what are life's changes ! Ho^ many since then 

The old pioneer ha» passed through ! 
The country has undergone changes; and men, 

And manners, and customs change, too. 

But still we remember those things as they were, 

And can vividly call up each scene; 
A settlement here, and another one there, 

With a stretch of prairie between. 

In passing those prairies, the traveler found 

His way by a trail through the grass; 
But farm after farm now covers the ground. 

And lane after lane he must pass. 

Not only a change in the landscape appears; 

The settlers are fast giving way ; 
But few, very few, of the old pioneers. 

Can be found in the county to-day. 

Where are those men, the brave sons of toil. 

Who trod down the nettles and grass? 
Where are the men who first turned the soil 

Of the beautiful county of Cass? 

A few of those gray-headed ones have to-day 

Met together, once more to exchange 
The greetings of friendship ; and well may we say, 

"Our surroundings are wondrously strange!" 

And now that we are together once more, 

lyCt us talk of the days that are past ; 
L<et us speak of those friends and call their names o'er, 

Whose fortune with ours was cast. , 

Let memory go back through the period of j^ears 
That has borne us on life's stormy wave, 

And call to our mind those old pioneers 
That long since have gone to the grave. 



AN OLD SETTLER S TALK. I45 

A host of those worthies, even now, while I speak, 

Are passing the mind's eye before : 
There's Butterfield, Diinnaway, Riddle, and Creek, 

And Warden, and Butler, and Moore ; 

There's Wilson, and Williams, and Burriss, and Myers — 

They pass as a will-o'-the-wisp ; 
There's Miller and Savage in homespun attires, 

With Gibson, McCarty, and Crisp; 

McClellan, and Blakely, the Dickeys, and Cooks, ' 

The Bledsoes, with Adkins, and Briens, 
Adams, and Harris, and Porter, and Brooks, 

McKinny, and Tuggle, and Lyons ; 

Arnett, and Parsons, and Bewly, and Finch, 

HoUoway, Sharp, and Malone, 
Campbell, and Story, and Burford, and Lynch, 

And Jackson, and Farmer, and Sloane. 

They're coming, still coming, and passing me by; 

Is it fancy, or really all true? 
Do I see them again, with the natural eye. 

Those friends that I long ago knew ? 

Is it Davis, and Massey, and Griffin, and Wade? 

Is it Baily, and Smith, and McCord? 
Those friends who have passed through the portals of 
shade. 

And gone to receive their reward. 

Ah, no! it is fancy, all fancy, no doubt — 

By fancy alone are they clad; 
Let us talk of their virtues, and say naught about 

Their failings, if failings they had. 

We are old and gray -headed, old fogies, they say; 

Young America's left us behind; 
The world ha^ grown wiser in this latter day. 

And swifter the march of the mind. 

'Tis true, very true, that the old pioneers 

Didn't move like a railroad train. 
But only as fast as a yoke of good steers 

Could carry them over the plain. 
—10— 



146 RURAT^ RHYMKS AND OI^DElN TIMKS. 

Though slow was their progress, those bold, hardy men 

Accomplished their purpose somehow; 
They didn't burst boilers, and smash up things then. 

As the fast ones are doing it now. 

The great iron horse they hadn't yet known; 

Knew little of steam or its power; 
Nor dreamed that the work of a day could be done, 

By machinery, in less than an hour. 

To quick correspondence though some might aspire, 

The methods to them were unknown; 
We couldn't then write with the telegraph wire. 

Nor talk on the wire telephone. 

The reaper, the thresher, corn-planter, and drill, 

And such labor-saving machines, 
Were unknown; but their work, by the hand, with a will 

Was performed, and by much safer means. 

Ah, yes ! mj^ old friends, we will talk of those days, 

And their plain, simple customs as well; 
And the young men may smile at our old-fogy ways, 

Or laugh at the stories we tell. 

Perhaps they may pity the old pioneer, : 

When he tells of the hardships he bore, 
The thousand discomforts experienced here. 

The thousand vexations, or more. 

Conveniences many were wanting, and when 

We got them, we brought them from far; 
Not even a friction match had we then. 

With which we could light a cigar. 

Cigar! did I say? myself I'll correct; 

We did not such articles use ; 
And the few that would smoke, if I well recollect. 

The cob-pipe, or the clay one, wouM use. 

To the flint and the steel, or the sun-glass, you know, 

We resorted when fires were out; 
But those old-fogy ways, so tedious and slow, 

Our boys know nothing about. 



AN OI.D settler's talk. 1 47 

Another discomfort remember we still : 

From week unto, week did we dread 
That task unavoidable — going to mill ; 

We could not well do without bread. 

Those primitive mills — the boys, I'll be bound, 

Would smile at the simple concern — 
When the horses or oxen would pull the wheel round, 

And we drove till we ground out the turn. 

Our news and newspapers were then scarce enough, 

Denied unto us, so to speak ; 
The nearest post-ofl&ce was thirty miles off. 

And the mail came but once in a week. 

The Washington Globe — Democrat, by the way — 

The doings of congressmen told ; 
But the speeches of Benton, and Webster, and Clay 

Were twenty or thirty days old. 

But that mattered not; it was news unto us. 
Though a month on the road it had been ; 

And we formed an opinion of things, and could guess 
Whether Clay or Van Buren would win. 

And later on yet, I remember — don't you ? 

In the coon-skin and cider campaign. 
When the songs of log cabin and Tippecanoe 

Were sung from Missouri to Maine. 

Backwoodsmen we were, plain farmers, and such 

As moved without clatter or noise; 
Of books and book knowledge didn't have half as much 

As some of our fast modern boys. 

As ignorant, though, as those pioneers were. 

Of all that is taught in the schools, 
Tbeir minds were as strong and their heads were as clear 

As those who now reason by rules. 

Yes, some of those clod-hopping farmers, I trow, 

Could calculate problems by head 
That students in algebra cannot do now 

On paper with pencils of lead. 



148 RURAI. RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

There were other things also, I think, that they knew, 

The youth of to-day doesn't know; 
Necessity taught them to persevere through, 

Where he would stop short in his row. 

With the bar-share, or carey, we broke up the land, 

A wooden moldboard to the plough. 
And cut our wheat down with a sickle, by hand ; 

But nobody uses them now. 

Our lumber we sawed with a whip-saw, you know, 

Out of timber much harder than pine ; 
When one man above and another below 

Kept the eye and the saw on the line. 

The old-fashioned tools, that we handled so well, 

Have gone out of use long ago ; 
And the modern young man their use couldn't tell. 

And even their name^would not know. 

Young America now may smile at our ways, 

Our slow-going methods condemn; 
If they envy not us in our pioneer days, 

We will certainly not envy them. 

Although so much wiser the world has now grown, 

So much faster 'tis rushing along. 
We'd rather live over the race^that we've run 

Than join in the mad, rushing throng. 

They may boast of their many improvements, and all 

The inventions of these latter years; 
Our thoughts will go back, and our minds will recall 

The days of the old pioneers. 

We had friendship and sociability then, 
And neighbors were neighbors indeed ; 

And all of those qualities noble in men 
Had not given place unto greed. 

With homespun attire and plain, simple fare. 

The men of that day were content; 
And in hunting the deer and the turkeys that were 

Many hours of leisure were spent. 



AN OLD SKTTLKR'S TALK. 1 49 

And now to the ladies — God bless 'em ! they're here ; 

And they have not forgotten, I know, 
The lives that they lived on the western frontier, 

In the years of the long time ago. 

I am sure those matrons some truth could reveal 

To the fine, dashing belles of to-daj^, 
Of the old cotton-cards, and the old spinning-wheel, 

And the loom, with its harness and sley. 

TheyHearned how to weave and to sew in their teens, 
And they spun their own cord, be it said ; 

They hadn't yet heard about sewing machines, 
And the Coats or the Clark patent thread. 

In those days, you know, 'twas -a housekeeper's pride 
When her own counterpane she had wove; 

And her skillet and pot by the fire-place wide 
She used without ever a stove. 

If to meetings on Sundays they went, you'd confess 

Their apparel was simple and plain ; 
They didn't have twenty yards then in a dress, 
And half as much more in the train. 

Yes, yes ; we had meetings and preaching here then, 

But no churches with steeples above ; 
We met in the dwellings of pious, good men, 

And the preaching was that of pure love. 

No doubt you remember those''preachers so plain — 

Their dressing of deer-skin and jeans — 
Who asked not for money, and preached not for gain. 

Nor knew what "collegiate" means. 

There was good Johnny Jackson — you^all knew him well- 
As plain as the plainest could be ; 

First preacher was he in the county to dwell, 
And few ever better than he. 

And then there was Savage, and Ferrill, well known ; 

And Powell, and Ousley, you knew ; 
With Farmer, and Williams, and Talbot, and Sloane, 

And others as good and as true. 



150 RURAI, RHYMES AND OI,DEN TIMES. 

You remember the old-fashioned hymns tliat they sung, 

From Wesley, and Watts, and Dupuy ; 
And the music that came from the heart by the tongue, 

For no organ or choir had we. 

Forgive me, old friends, if I cannot forbear, 

In speaking of days past and gone. 
The past with the present fast age to compare, 

If comparisons truly are drawn. 

My mind to the present I cannot confine ; 

Bver backward fond memory will turn ; 
To the scene of our youth the heart will incline, 

So long as on earth we sojourn. 

Though Mollie or Mamie the organ may thrum. 

And its music may fill the whole room. 
In fancy I hear the old wheel and its hum. 

And the tune Polly played on the loom. 

And oftentimes now to the church when I go. 

My thoughts, so rebellious, are turned 
Away from the service to times long ago, 

And those pioneer preachers unlearned. 

Though the sermon may be by the greatest D.D., 

And with eloquence truly sublime, 
I cannot forbear the man to compare 

With some in the good olden time. 

And as oft as I visit your fast-growing town. 

This city with prospect so bright. 
The thought will arise, and I can't keep it down. 

Of the first time I stood on its site.* 

'Twas then in embryo the town lay concealed; 

Its dimensions did not yet appear ; 
A squatt^r'sf log cabin, a little corn-field. 

And that was all then that was here. 



^'-Alluding to the time when the author, as surveyor, laid out the first 
lots, May, 1837. 

tjaines Lackey's. 



AN OLD SETTLERS TALK. 15I 

Ah, 5'es! my old friends, gray-haired pioneers, 

How many such changes we've seen ! 
How many the changes in forty odd years, 

And how wondrous those changes have been ! 

Some changes were pleasing, and some have been sad; 

We've passed through peace and war too ; 
Ah ! many's the "ups " and the " downs " we have had, 

In passing life's wilderness through. 

And now let the few, in reunion to-day, 

Give thanks to the Ruler on high. 
That though he has taken our comrades away, 

In his goodness he's spared you and I. 

And when we reflect on the many that's gone, 

The ie\Y pioneers that remain. 
Let us pray that His goodness may still lead us on, 

Till we meet our old comrades again. 

Not long will it be until that time will come. 

Our reason admonishes us; 
Death's messenger soon will summon us home — 

In nature 'tis evermore thus. 

Another reunion we'll have, and we'll greet 

The loved and the lost ones again; 
Ah, yes! in a grander reunion we'll meet, 

And no parting or sorrows have then. 

We've had many meetings and partings, old friends. 

But soon will those partings be o'er; 
Perhaps when this social reunion shall end 

And we part, we will meet here no more. 

When another twelve months, brother Brown,* shall 
elapse. 

And you meet in reunion again, 
The friend who addresses you now will, perhaps. 

Be numbered no more with you then. 

"Robert Brown, president of the Old Settlers' Society. 



152 SURAI, RHYMES AND OI.DEN TiMKvS. 

DE GOOD OLE TIMES IN NO RE CAR LINER. 



See heali, Miss Sindy, ef you got thru wid your 
music lesson, an your drawin' lesson, an your lesson on 
what-3^ou-call-it — calisthenix an fizzyolog}', jes set down 
here a little while, an lissen to ole Aunt Rachel tell about 
de good ole times in Norf Carliner, fifty years ago, when 
me an your granmammy was gals togedder ; when your 
great-grandaddy lived on ole massa's plantation, and de 
children went to school to de ole log school-house wid 
de dirt floor, an I didn't ; for you know dey didn't 'low 
black folks to go to skule in dem times, for fear we might 
larn to read an rite, an den rite our own passes, you 
know, an run away. 

Well, its bin a long time, and things is mity different 
now from what dey was den. I was a-thinkin' about it 
a while ago, when I heerd you a thumpin' away at dat 
peanner in dar, an I thought what a different sort o' 
music your granmammy was larnt to play, an how well 
she played it too, on de loom an de ole spinnin' wheel. 
De gals way back dar maby didn't know as much 'bout 
grammah an rithmetick an 'jebra an de ollagys as you 
do, an mighty few of 'em ever seed a peanner, or heerd 
it screamin' away as I did a while ago ; an maby dey 
nevah heerd tell of it in dem piu)^ woods ; I know I 
didn't. An den dar is so many odder things dat you know 
so much about, dat your granmamy an de odder gals 
never heerd of; but you needn't get ashamed, an go to 
blushin' on 'count of your granmudder's ignorance, for 
she an de udder gals way back dar knowed how to do a 
hundred things dat you is ignorant about as I is of fizzy- 
ology, or any odder ology. 

De gals in ole Norf Carliner, whar dis nigger was 
born, an in Tennysee, whar ole massa moved to, all larnt 
to card an spin de cotton as soon as dey was big enufif to 
reach to de spindle of de wheel, an some of em sooner. 
I 'member your granmudder larnt to spin when she was 
so little dat dey had to cut ofi" de legs of de wheel bench, 
so she could reach up to turn de wheel. I 'm speakin' 
now of de gals whose daddj's didn't have too menny nig- 
gers to do de work; for when dat was de case, de gals 



DK GOOD OLK TIMES IN NORF CARLINER- 153 

suintimes got stuck up, jeslike Mandy Twigs, de kurnel's 
daurter, is now, an like sum udder gals whose daddys has 
lots o' munny. Yes, I was talkin' about de common 
folks, like your daddy an mammy, an your uncle Ben, an 
Joshua and de rest of de nabors. De gals den didn't 
larn only to spin de cotton an de wool, on de big wheel; 
but dey larnt to spin de flax and de tow on de little one. 
An dey didn't only larn how to spin it, but dey soon larnt 
to weave it into cloff and sew it up, and make dar own 
close and de bed close. I seed dis niornin' de ole blue 
spotted kiverlid dat j^our granmammy wove ('fore you 
was bornd) on de ole-fashioned loom dat your great- 
grandaddy made, and I was thinkin' whedder enny of de 
gals who may live fifty years from now will ever sleep 
under de kiverlids dat dar granmammys wove. Mity 
few, I reckon. How long. Miss Sindy, does you think it 
would take you to card an spin a dozen o' cotton on de 
big wheel ? I b'leve you has larnt to spin wool a little, 
jes enuff to make stockins for you an de boys; but did 
you ever see a pair o' cotton cards, an larn to use 'em ? I 
reckon not ; an I'd bet a fo' pens-hapenny* you couldn't 
card a dozen rolls in an hour. An den de flax an de 
flax-wheel — did you ever see 'em ? It's bin a long while 
sence I seed one at work. I think I seed a part of one 
in de smoke-house tudder day, which nia^'by your mudder 
spun on when she was a gal. An den de flax — oh, yes, 
you've seed dat a growin' in de field. Dey raise it now 
for de seed, to make oil of; an dey throw away all de good 
part dat dey yuse to make close of, or else feed it to de 
cows. In de ole times dey planted or sowed only a small 
patch, jes enuff" to make spinnin' truck ; an dey got seed 
enuff" off of dat to sow a patch de next year, an maby a 
little to sell. An dey didn't cut de flax den wid a 
masheen, as de}^ do now. Oh, no, hunny ; dey pulled it 
out of de ground by de roots, wid dar hands. Did you 
ever hear your granmammy tell about a flax-pullin' ? I've 
bin to menny a pullin' in my young days; when de boys 
an de gals would meet togedder, an run races a pullin' an 
spredden de flax, and have a jolly good time. 

De gals an de wimmin folks ginerally dun de most of 

*Six and a quarter cents. 



154 RURAL RHYMES Ai\D OLDEN TIMES. 

de puUin', cause de men folks was mity oflFen bizz}^ in de 
harvest field, a-cuttin de wheat 'bout dat time. 

Oh, yes ; you ax me how dey managed to git spinnin' 
truck outen de flax straws, ruff an coarse as it is. Well, 
you see, we would pull up de flax straws, an spred 'em 
out to cure ; an' when it was cured enuff, would tie it up 
in bundles, like dej^ do de wheat or oats, an put it in de 
dry till cold wedder, an' den spread it out agin to rot; an 
when it wus rotted enuff, take it up an put it away in de 
dry agin. An in de leisure times de men would brake it 
on de flax brake, an beat de straw all into little pieces; 
an de bark, or de lint, as dey call it, would hang togedder, 
you see. An den de gals would swingle it on a swinglin' 
board, wid a swinglin' knife, an skutch all de shoaves 
out; an den dey would hackel it, an git de tow out, an 
twiss up de clean flax in twists, reddy to spin. But I 
reckon you nebber seed a swinglin' board, or a swinglin' 
knife, or a flax hackel ; an dis nigger would like to see you 
try to use one. so I could laff at your awkward licks. 
Dar is mity few gals of your age in dis country dat could 
spin a spool o' flax a day; an I guess dar is nun of de 
young mudders now dat can 

"Rock de cradle wid de foot, 
An spin a pound o' tow," 
As de ole songs yuse to say, 
A long time ago, 

an as your great-gran mammy could do. 

But dat, you say, was not in dis country, or in dis age 
of progress, an masheens, an railroads. Oh, yes ; I know 
it was away back in Carliner, an Tennysee, an Kentucky, 
in de old-fogy times; but forty years ago sum of dese 
ole fashions was kep up here in Mizzury an Elinoy. I 
has seed your mammy an your granmammy a-spinnin' 
de flax, an de tow, and de cotton, an a-makin' an a- 
weavin' dar homespun an home-made. dresses, here in 
dis country. And as fine as you dress yourself now, I 
reckon you needn't be 'shamed of what dey did. 

Maby you think you is much more 'complished dan 
dey wus, an maby you is. I know dar is hundreds of 
gals now who can make de awgan an de peanner humit 
all de day, who nebber heard de hum of de little wheel. 



DE GOOD OI^E TIMES IN NORF CARI^INKR. 1 55 

an who couldn't spin a poun' of soin' thread, or a poun' 
of shoe thread, ef der lives 'pended on it. And de shoe- 
makers have to buy all dar shoe thread out'n de stores, 
an dat thread, I reckon, wus spun on masheens in de ole 
country whar dey raise flax fur sumthin' 'sides de seed. 
I haint seed a flax brake, or a swinglin' board, or a hank 
o' homespun soin' thread, or a tow sheet in a coon's age — 
not since the wah, I b'leve; an what de world is a-goin' 
to cum to I don't know. When I wus a gal, tow cloff, or 
tow linen, ef you please, was de black folks' principal 
dressin', an it was one of de articles of trade. De wim- 
min would make it, an sell it to de peddlers or de store- 
keepers, an buy dar needles, an pins, an ribbins, an han- 
kerchers, an sumtimes a calico dress, wid it. 

De wimmin den, specially de married ones, was not 
'shamed to go to meetin' wid dar homespun dresses, 
striped wid de red, an de white, an de blue. An dey 
knowed how to dye de blue an de red, de green an de 
yaller. De men wore de blue jeans for Sunday, an de 
wimmin tried to see who could make her husban' de 
nicest coat an jacket. 

In place of goin' to meetin' in de buggy, wid de can- 
terin' bosses, de gals den rid on hossback, or went on 
foot; mos' ginerally dey walked. Ise knowed your gran- 
mammy an de udder gals to walk as much as four miles 
of a Sunday to meetin', across de river, and de river hills, 
too. Yes, an I've known 'em to walk barfooted an tote 
dar shoes an stockins in dar hands till near de meetin' 
house, and den dey would set down on a log an put 'em 
on. Sometimes in winter dey would wear dar ole coarse 
shoes till dey got near enuflf, and den set 'em down behind 
a log or stump, an put on dar Sunday ones, an wear 'em 
till dey got back dar. 

Oh, yes, Sindy ; things is mity changed in de last fifty 
years. Mity few of de young ladies now would walk dat 
fur to hear de best preacher in de whole country, an 
maby it was not to hear de sarmon dat dey yuse to walk 
so fur across de rivers an de hills den. It's not ole 
Rachel's place to say what dey went for; I only know dey 
went. 

And den de meetin' houses an everything else seems 
so different now. Den dey had de log meetin' house, 



156 RURAI, RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

wid no stove in it, an no seats but de ruiF benches, made 
by puttin' de legs in de auger-holes of a slab or punchin, 
or a log split open an hewed. An de preachers didn't 
dress up so fine as sum of 'em duz now An dey didn't 
have de big awgan an de note books to help 'em sing. 
De brudders an de sisters an de boys an de gals didn't 
have to wait for de awgan an de quire to go ahead an 
lead 'em, an sing for 'em; but each one as wanted to 
pitcht right in an sung for hisself, as loud an as fast as 
he pleased ; an de words of de song wasn't drownded to 
death by de loud swellin' tones of de awgan. An den de 
preacher preached as long as he pleased, or as long as it 
pleased de I/Ord to give him sumthin' to say; an he 
didn't have to stop at the eend of forty-five niinnits, jest 
'cause it's de fashion to do so. 

I could tell you, Miss Sindy, a great deal more 'bout 
de ole fashions in de ole time, an what de young men an 
de boys done, as well as what de gals did; but I reckon 
you has heerd your ole grandaddy talk 'bout it, an he 
knowed a great deal mor'n most folks, an a heap more dan 
I duz, and if he had 'pended, as a great menny young- 
sters duz now, on de skules an de colleges, an his dad- 
dy's pocket-book, he never would a knowed as much as he 
did. I knowed your grandaddy, as well as your gran- 
mammy, 'fore dey was married. Yes, when he was a little 
boy; an he wasn't thought to be a very smart boy 
nudder; not as smart as my brudder Bob, for he couldn't 
play de fiddle, nor de banjer nudder; and he was de 
poorest singer you ever heerd try to sing; but for all dat, 
he made his mark 'fore he died ; an you know he was 
talked of pretty strong for Congress. Dat was your 
grandaddy, Sindy, who followed de shuvel-plow when 
a boy, dressed in his tow linen shirt, an his tow linen 
britches; and who went to skule, when a little shaver, 
with nuthin at all on but a long tow linen shirt dat his 
mammy spun an wove for him. . An I , hope you aint 
ashamed dat you is his grandaurter, 'cause he didn't go 
dressed as fine as boys duz now. 

But I reckin I'se talked long enuff now about de ole 
times an de ole fashions, specially as I see de young feller 
wid de slick hat, an de fine coat, an de sandy mustash 
a-comin, an I reckon I'll soon hear datpeanner a-screamin' 



THE OI<D minister's REMINISCENCES. 1 57 

agin. I duz wish you'd burn it up an learn to play de 
fiddle like my brudder Bob yuse to play it ; dar would 
be some sense in lissenin' to sich music as dat. 



THE OLD MINISTERS REMINISCENCES. 

I'm thinking of times in the long, long ago, 
When the Savior of sinners appeared, 

Relieved my distresses, and bade me to go 
And tell the good news I had heard. 

I think of the time, in the long time ago, 
When with Christians in brotherly love, 

I joined in the church of the lyord here below — 
The earnest of that one above. 

I think of those fathers in Israel true, 

Who admonished and counseled me then. 

I think of those mothers in Israel, too, 
Who prayed for me time and again. 

I think of those brothers and sisters that's gone. 

Who worshiped with me in the past; 
I think of them oft as I'm following on. 

And I trust I shall meet them at last. 

I think of the preachers of long, long ago 
Those preachers, old-fashioned and plain, 

Who labored with sinners the Savior to show, 
And not for applause or for gain. 

I think of them still as they preached long ago, 

Devoid of all fashion or pride. 
Resolved nothing else but the Savior to know, 

Christ Jesus, the lyord, crucified. 

I think of the time in the long, long ago. 
When my mind was so strongly impressed 

With the theme of salvation ; my brethren said, "Go 
And preach the great Name you've confessed." 

I'm thinking of times in the long, long ago, 

In my native land, now far away, 
When I called upon sinners, the high and the low, 

To prepare for the great coming day. 



158 RURAL RHYMKS AND OLDEN TIMES. J 

I think of those hearers of long, long ago, ^ 

Who heard, and so gladly obeyed, "I 

Confessed the good Master where still waters flow, '\ 

And made good the confession then made. '\ 

Ah, yes ! I oft think of those hearers of mine, 

Who turned to the lyord then and there ; 
And sometimes I wonder if they will e'er shine, 

As stars in the crown I shall wear. 

I'm thinking of some, in the long, long ago. 

Who professed and ran well for awhile ; 
But they stopped and turned back, and their works go 
to show 

That the heart was not cleansed from its guile. 

My thoughts will oft turn from the long, long ago 

To the scenes of my still later 5-ears ; 
And the river of life is more swift in its flow 

As the ocean it silently nears. 

I think of the hundreds of places I've been, 

The gospel of peace to proclaim ; 
I think of the hundreds of changes I've seen 

In some who Christianity claim. 

I think how the worship of long, long ago. 

So simple, so plain and sincere. 
Is fast giving place to one of more show, 

More formal — -less earnest, I fear. 

I think how I preached, in the good days of yore, 
|*^In the little school-house, or the grove; 
The simple attire that the worshipers wore. 
Which the women had spun and had wove. 

I think of the hymns that we sang long ago, 

With no organ or choir to lead : 
"A stranger I am in the world here below," 

Or, "Alas! did my kind Savior bleed." 

I think of the tunes, with their musical flow, 

And those tunes I can never forget ; 
I think of the singers who sang them so slow, 

And their faces I seem to see yet. 



THE OIvD CAPTATN AND THK ROLL-CALL. 1 59 

I think of a church in the long time ago, . 

That meeting-house down in the dell, 
Overhung by the branches that swayed to and fro, 

In place of a costly church-bell. 

I think of the tears of repentance that flowed 
From the eyes of the weeping ones there ; 

And the ecstatic joy the countenance showed 
When Jehovah had answered their prayer. 

I think of the times in the long, long ago, 

When infidel scoffers were rare ; 
And to question the truth of the Bible, you know. 

No man in his senses would dare. 

And when I think now of the long, long ago, 
And hear skeptics deriding God's laws, 

I ask myself this : Is not fashion and show. 
And the walk of professors, the cause?" 

The fashions, like seasons, may come and may go. 

And each a new grandeur may claim ; 
But now, as it was in the long time ago, 

The word of the I^ord is the same. 

The word of the Lord and His statutes, I know, 
Will stand, though the nations ma}^ fall ; 

And the kingdom of Christ that we preached long ago 
Will come and prevail over all. 



THE OLD CAPTAIN OF 1838 AND THE ROLL- 
CALL AT PLEASANT HHL, MO., IN 1881. 



A DREAM. 



Methought in that old town I stood, 

The town of Pleasant Hill, 
And thinking of the old times good, 

Forgot the present ill. 

I thought the small log house was there, 
Where Wright his goods was selling, 

And customers and idlers were 
Their jokes and stories telling. 



l6o RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

When suddenly to me appeared, 

Upon the door-sill standing, 
A man with gray and grisly beard, 

But with a mien commanding. 

His dress was of the olden style, 
lyike men of old were wearing. 

And in his belt a sword the while 
I saw the man was bearing. 

He wore a hat with narrow shade, 
One that we called a "Roram," 

And on that hat was a cockade, 
As ofl&cers once wore 'em. 

He nothing said to us, although 

He quickly drew attention, 
And that we asked his name to know 

I scarcely need to mention. 

When, making a polite salaam. 

And flourishing his saber. 
He said : "I'll tell you what I am. 

And what I was — your neighbor. 

"A captain of the olden time. 

When men were wont to muster; 

And they would stake their bottom dime 
On Captain Bill Gallbuster. 

"Some of the men of long ago 

Can Captain Bill remember; 
That was the May of life, you know. 

But now 'tis chill December. 

"I'm now a wreck, a wreck you see, 
A vessel well nigh stranded ; 

I'm here to-day, but where — ah me ! 
The men that I commanded ?' 

"I look in vain for carbineer, 

I look in vain for lancer; 
I'll call the roll — I've got it here — 

And see just who will answer." 



THE OI,D CA.PTAIN AND THE KOI,VCAL,L. l6l 

And taking from his bosom then 

A paper worn and faded, 
He said: "This is the roll of men 

Who once with me paraded ; 

"I fain would know how many's here, 
Or where the Fates have thrown 'em." 

He called the names,, distinct and clear, 
And thus commented on 'em : 

"Anthony Bledsoe, Nathan Creek, 

Speak, if attention giving; 
William Warden^do I seek 

The dead amongst the living? 

"William A. Butler, Jesse too, 

John S., and Joab Brothers — 
Dead ! or gone to Texas ; true 

Of them and many others. 

" Hiram Savage, Milton Creek, 

And Hezekiah Warden ; 
They answer not, they do not speak— 

And silent Andrew Gordon. 

"Allen Yocham, Watson I^ynch 

Silent as the grave are ; 
Andrew Wilson, Charley Myers — 

Gone ! ah, gone the brave are ! 

"John Phillips, T. and Mordecai, 

John Gibson, Bill, and Thomas, 
And William Burgin — gone ! they say, 

By death all taken from us. 

"Peter Welch and James Bledsoe, 

Thomas, James, and Joel Riddle ; 
William Moore and J. Hinshaw — 

All gone, with John A. Weddle. 

"Alfred G.* and Jerry Sloane*— " 

'Here, here' they feebly answer ; 
'Old and frail, and feeble grown, 

We fain would march, but can't, sir.' 



*Since dead. 

—11— 



1 62 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

"James Gibson — no response I hear; 

James I/awrence — dead and buried ! 
James Reynolds — been for many a year 

Beyond the river ferried. 

" Sam McAninch — here, did he say ? 

How few, how faint the answers ! 
James and Isaac Dunnaway ; 

Gone, gone, courageous lancers. 

"Samuel Burgin — where is he? 

And where his brother Thomas? 
Joined that larger company. 

That Death has taken from us. 

" Moses Bailey answers, here; 

Wiley Bailey also, present; 
But no responsive voice I hear 

From their good brother Pleasant. 

"Jacob Miller, John, and James — 

Silence deep and solemn ; 
No more they'll answer to their names, 

From out the muster-column. 

"John Golding* faintly answers, here; 

His merry laugh has left him ; 
Though Death has spared his life, I hear 

He's oftentimes bereft him. 

" Noah Williams — where is he? 

And where is T. J. Carey? 
They'll drill no more ; they're muster free, 

And resting with the weary. 

""Jerry Farmer* answers, here; 

Glad to see you, very; 
Beneath another Captain's care 

You're marching homeward, Jerry. 

" Green E. Story — answer none ; 

Hosea Williams, Henry Farmer — 
Silent all ; their marching's done, 

They've laid aside their armor. 



THE OLD CAPTAIN AND THE ROLL-CALL. 1 63 

"John Burriss next, then Bailey Cook ; 

James Williams, John McCarty — 
I hear them not ; in vain I look ; 

They'll no more join our party. 

"John Robinson ^nd James H. May, 

Josiah Keeran also, 
IvUke Williams — all, all far away; 

Then why, why need I call so ? 

" Henry, and McClain, Corlew, 

Morgan, Wash., and William Briants, 

Martin Langston, Samson too — 
Tall as modern giants. 

" Zorobabel I^angston, tall 

Solomon, and Larkin, 
Jesse Langston, though I call, 

Not one of them will hearken. 

" Mastin Burriss* answers, here; 

Indeed, and is it Mastin ? 
Almost the first old pioneer. 

And may be, too, the last one. 

" William H. Myers answers, here; 

So answers Caswell Estes ;* 
'We're tottering on life's journey drear. 

And years with weight have pressed us.' 

" Wesley Lynch and James Malone — 

No answer, none whatever ; 
Far, far away, in Oregon, 

They crossed Death's icy river. 

" Martin Rice and Allen James* — 

'Here, here,' they faintly falter; 
Once more they answer to their names. 

But, oh, how features alter! 

" Isaac Smith and Austin Smith — 

No answer comes from either ; 
Gone to the grave, their kindred with, 

And soon we, too, will be there. 

"Since dead. 



164 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

"James Smith* — I hear, or seem to hear, 
A faint and faltering answer : 

' Excuse me, Cap, I can't be there — 
Confined at home with cancer.' 

"Silas Williams, Charley Whig;* 
Their rosy cheeks have faded; 

They'll come no more, with martial rig, 
To where we once paraded. 

"Wyatt Adkins — where is he? 

Ben C, and James, and Carroll, 
Thomas Carter — gone, ah me! 

And gone is William Ferrill. 

"Andrew Farmer, Moses too, 
Frederic, bold, and Thomas — 

They've passed the river Jordan through. 
Into the land of promise. 

"William H. Duncan — answer none; 

Walter Taylor — deep the silence; 
James B. Porter — he is gone. 

Fell by the hand of violence. 

"Edley Hooper — silent too; 

J., K., and Wesley Underwood — 
They answer not ; or, if they do, 

The answer is not understood. 

"William Wright, the merchant — ho! 

David Rice, his salesman — 
Gone, they're gone long time ago. 

With Death, the cruel pale-man. 

"Abram Bledsoe, Sampson too, 
John, and Fields, and Willis — 

They answer not amongst the feW; 
All dead! or gone, they tell us 

"Isaac Bledsoe — where is he? 

John and William Stephens? 
Where is Burney (William P.), 

And where is Dennis Evans? 



♦Charles Williams. 



THE OI,D CAPTAIN AND THE ROI^LCALL. 165 

"Where is good John Colburn, brave? 

Where is David Ousley? 
Filling now a soldier's grave; 

'Tis there the laureled brows lie. 

"James Wilson answers, 'I am here;' 

But where is Will, and Henderson? 
They answer not, those brothers dear — 

And silent Gideon Henderson. 

"A. C. Tidwell— where is he? 

Where is Presly Bryant? 
Where is Bowling Savage, he 

Of disposition pliant? 

" Francis Prine, the colonel — ho ! 

The fluent tongue now still is — 
James I^. Duncan lying low. 

Beneath the drooping lilies. 

"Hezekiah Smith — not here; 

Still the bounding pulse is, 
Gone to the grave within the year; 

And there, too, Johnson Stults is. 

"William Jones, the wheelwright — gone! 

And almost gone his calling ; 
Elliott Wilbourne, Moreton (John)^ 

Both numbered 'mongst the fallen. 

"Charles English, Patrick Talbot— ho! 

No answer from them coming; 
The Doctor's gone long time ago, 

And silent Charley's drumming. 

" Henry Ousley, Anthony too — 

They answer not my calling ; 
Of all my men, how few, how few ! 

And they are yearly falling, 

"Gone are the men of thirty-eight. 

And eighteen thirty-seven ; 
To call my roll is now too late; 

That roll's been called in heaven. 



l66 RURAI, RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

" On earth no more I'll call the roll 

Of men that answer never; 
I'll fold it up, the ancient scroll, 

And call no more forever. 

" 'Tis sad to say, 'tis sad to tell : 

The company's disbanded; 
And Captain Bill now bids farewell 

To those he once commanded." 

Then clarion-like, I thought he blew 

An ancient bugle, seeming; 
But 'twas, perhaps, the cock that crew, 

And waked me from my dreaming. 



SMALL CAUSES AND LARGE RESULTS. 



Dialogue. — Uncle Ben, John, and Charley. 

Uncle Ben. — Well, Charley, you heard Dr. Langley's 
lecture last night; did you pay attention, and can you re- 
member any of the points of his discourse ? 

Charley. — Yes, I heard it; and I tried to pay attention, 
and I can remember some things that he said. One thing 
I remember he tried to impress upon our minds was that 
very small and trivial incidents or circumstances, in our 
youth, are sometimes productive of great results; and 
that a very trivial and apparently unimportant incident, 
in boyhood, sometimes influences the whole future course 
of the man; and he said there were but few old men 
who could not look back to their boyhood and recall 
some small circumstance, or some apparently unimport- 
ant step then, that has influenced their whole after course, 
for good or bad. 

Uncle Ben. — Yes, boys, that is all very true; and I hope 
you will remember to be careful in small matters, as well 
as those of more apparent magnitude. A very short step 
in a certain direction now, may send you a long way in 
that direction, before you arrive at my age. 

I remember many years ago a temperance lecturer 
dwelling upon the same subject, in an address to the 
young men of a certain town in Missouri; and he illus- 




/^ 



^^^yyi^e^^ 



REY. JERE FARMER. 
See page 167. 



SMALL CAUSES AND LARGE RESULTS. 1 67 

trated the thought in this way: "You notice," said he, 
"this school building stands on the summit of the ridge 
that divides the waters of the Missouri River from those 
of the Osage. A school-boy may throw a snow-ball upon 
the top of that building, and he may think it matters not 
whether it falls upon the north or the south side of the 
roof ; but sooner or later the warm sun or the south wind 
will cause it to melt, and in the form of a liquid it will 
fall to the ground, either on the north or the south side 
of the building, and will be carried by the force of 
gravity, with other waters, down the declining slope, 
north or south, till it mingles either with the clear waters 
of the Osage or the turbid ones of the mad Missouri. 
So it is, young man, with you. You may think it matters 
but little, if anything at all, how you spend your leisure 
hours, or whether you are seen upon the north side or 
the south side, the inside or the outside, of certain build- 
ings. But beware of the consequences attendant upon 
small and trifling circumstances. In the far-off future 
it makes all the difference in the world whether in your 
youth you were seen on the inside or the outside of the 
church on the Sabbath, or on the inside or the outside 
of the grog shop on week days. Place yourselves, then, 
young men, upon the safe and the proper incline, if you 
would have the natural flow of circumstances to carry 
you forward on the road of honor and respectability." 

Charley. — I think I shall remember the Doctor's lec- 
ture, and I hops I may profit by it. But can you. Uncle 
Ben, now in your old age, look back to your boyhood, 
and call to mind any of those very trivial incidents or 
circumstances that have had an influence, either for good 
or for bad, in your after life; any of those short steps 
that placed you on the incline that has brought you to 
where you are now? 

Uncle Ben. — Yes; I very frequently look back, and in 
my memory can call up several little things, that, had 
they been different, my whole after course might have 
been different from what it has been ; possibly better and 
may be worse. 

Johyi. — I would be pleased. Uncle Ben, if you would, 
this winter's evening, tell me and Charley a story of one 
or more of those little things, and its consequences ; and 



l68 RURAI, RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

perhaps that little story may be one of the little inci- 
dents in our lives from which great results may flow in 
coming years. 

Uncle Ben. — If by telling such a story I could implant 
in your minds a resolution, firm and steadfast, to walk in 
the right path, and to take heed to your every step, with 
a fixed determination to obtain an honorable position in 
society by deserving that position, I would willingly do 
so ; though you know I am not much in the habit of 
talking about myself, or my own doings; and to the end 
that each one of you may be induced to place your mark 
high, and with diligence press toward it, I will select one 
of the incidents that in my youth led me to indulge in 
the hope that at some day I might make a mark in the 
world, and arrive at some degree of eminence; and 
though I have not succeeded in all I hoped for, it may 
have had, and I think did have, an influence in enabling 
me to succeed as well as I have done. You know already 
that I never went to school as much as you boys have, 
and at your age didn't know as much as you do now ; 
but I had learned to read and write, and knew some- 
thing of arithmetic. 

When I was between sixteen and seventeen years old, 
I attended a general election of the county, at a time 
when it was customary for the boys and girls to attend 
and enjoy themselves in the picnic style, eating apples 
and ginger-cakes, drinking cider, etc. You may perhaps 
say this was not a proper place for girls, or boys either, 
to go to, as neither had a vote to give. That may be so, 
but I didn't think so then ; I expected to be a man some 
day, and wished to be learning something about politics, 
as that was in Clay and Jackson's time. As I have told 
you before, I was an awkward boy, and not at all sprightly 
in conversation, but bashful and reserved, and not calcu- 
lated to attract the favorable notice of strangers. 

Upon this occasion the j'^oung folks assembled, and 
organized early in the day a ball or dance, in a vacant 
house near by. Either because I was too young or too 
awkward to dance, or because I had gone to the election 
to see how that was managed, or from some other cause, 
I staid near the barn where the polls were to be opened 
on the threshing-floor. 



SMAI.I. CAUSES AND LARGE RESUI.TS. 1 69 

When the judges of election, preparatory to opening 
the polls, came to select the clerks, it was found that 
there were but few men competent to the task on the 
ground. 

My old school-master was one of the judges, and had 
fixed upon a sprightly young man of twenty-one years, 
who had also been one of his scholars, and the best scribe 
amongst them ; but he had learned to play the fiddle, and 
was off at the dance. Others were suggested, but they 
too were there. At length the school-master judge said 
that may be Ben, with a little watching and instruction, 
might answer the purpose, and said that he would give 
the needed oversight; so I was sworn in, the first oath 
that I ever took. My fellow-clerk was deputy-sheriff of 
the county, and a brother to the high sheriff, with self- 
importance enough for a congressman. 

My friend, the school-master, made me a good goose- 
quill pen (we had no steel ones then), and I was set to 
work. It was soon discovered, and remarked, that Ben 
was the best clerk of the two. I wrote a plainer and bet- 
ter hand, and with more speed; and it was noticed by 
the voters that I was not at the same loss to spell their 
names that the other clerk was ; and at the close of the 
election, which held two days, I was pleased to see that 
my book was selected by the judges as the one to send to 
the county clerk's ofl&ce. 

The little circumstance, then, that I was at the barn 
while other young men, better qualified, were at the 
dance, brought the awkward, bashful boy, that I was, to 
the notice of the voters of the whole precinct, and gave 
me more confidence in myself, and kindled an ambition 
and a resolve to push forward in self-culture. Nor did 
the consequences of this little incident stop there. A 
few months later, there was an administrator's sale, con- 
tinuing from day to day, in that part of the county, and 
one of the judges of election was the administrator. He, 
having seen how I behaved at the election, employed me 
to clerk his sales for him ; and the bashful boy was again 
brought into notice. Nor did it stop there ; Colonel D., 
from the adjoining count}^, whose wife was one of the 
heirs of the estate, was present, and took notice of the 
young clerk; and a short time after, sent for me to come 



170 RURAL RHYMES AND OI^DRiSr TIMES. 

and teach their district school, which I did; and gave 
satisfaction, though I was not yet eighteen years old. 

Another little incident in this chain of circumstances 
I will mention here : When the Colonel sent word for 
me to come and teach their school, the messenger, a rel- 
ative of his, stopped, as he was passing, to deliver the 
message ; and he afterwards told me that when he entered 
the little shop where my father was making horseshoes, 
and I was blowing the bellows and assisting in the work, 
that he was much surprised to learn that I was the per- 
son to whom the message was sent ; and his mental 
exclamation was : "If that tow-headed boy is to be the 
teacher, may God help the scholars !" 

That man left for the far west before the school was 
out ; and when I arrived here the next year I found that 
my name and fame, as the boy school-master, had pre- 
ceded me; and owing to his representations and his 
influence, I was soon teaching in this State. 

So you see, boys, that a trifling incident will often 
pave the way and lead to something more important ; 
and that again to something else, and so on, a never- 
ending chain. 

And now if this little story shall be an incident, or a 
link in the chain of incidents, that will raise you from 
your present state of youthful insignificance to some- 
thing grand and noble, and make you honored and use- 
ful citizens after I am dead and gone, it will not have 
been told in vain. 

Charley. — I am much pleased with the story, and I 
think I will not soon forget it. But another remark of 
the Doctor's last night induces me to ask another ques- 
tion relative to your experience. Do you remember any 
little disappointment, some little circumstance that went 
contrary to your wishes, that turned out for your good, 
and changed the whole after course of your life into a 
different channel from what it would have been if you 
had had your wish? 

Uncle Ben. — I remember many disappointments like 
you speak of, that carried me in a different direction from 
that in which my own wishes would have carried me ; 
but whether for better or worse, I can only conjecture. 
We know what the consequence of taking the right-hand 



SMALL CAUSES AND LARGE RESULTS. 171 

road has been, and where that road has led us; but if 
we had taken the left, we do not know where we would 
have been; it is all conjecture. 

One little disappointment in my youth I will men- 
tion : I was very anxious to learn the printing business, 
and came very near being put to that trade, a very trifle 
preventing it. Had I gone into that printing office, on 
\h.Q Holston, I might have been there yet ; but no human 
eye can see, and none can know now v/hether it would 
have been better or worse for me ; I am, however, not 
sorry now that I was disappointed then. 

But tell me, Johnny, as you were at the lecture last 
night, what part of the Doctor's remarks made the great- 
est impression on your mind? 

John. — Well, I believe that part of the Doctor's talk 
about the literature that boys read, and what they ought 
to read, was about the best part of the lecture. He told 
us to beware of the yellow -backed ten-cent novels and 
sensational stories with which the country is flooded 
from one end to the other, creating a vicious taste, and 
unfitting the mind for anything of a solid character. I 
remember he said, amongst other things, that he had no 
doubt but that there were men now in the penitentiary, 
or awaiting death on the gallows, who can now look back 
and trace the chain of circumstances that brought them 
there to the early reading of such literature, especially 
such as makes heroes of highway robbers. And again, 
he said there might be, and he had no doubt there were, 
men eminent in their country's history who received their 
first noble impulses from literature of a more substantial 
and moral character; and I would like for you to tell us 
your experience in that respect — what book or reading- 
matter exerted or had the greatest influence, for good or 
bad, in forming the character which you now have? 

Uncle Ben. — The Doctor was no doubt right in warn- 
ing you against such light and trashy literature ; and as 
to my own experience, I must own to having read more 
of this light literature than was good for me, though in 
my boyhood it was not so common and widespread as it 
is now ; and I never had much taste for those novels of 
the Dick Turpin and Claude Duval type, and do not 
know that they influenced me much any way ; but I con- 



172 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

sider the time lost, or thrown away, that was speut in 
reading them — time that might have been profitably 
spent in reading and studying better books. 

As to the literature that I read when a boy, I had but 
little to read, except the Bible and what I borrowed from 
the neighbors ; and next to the Bible, I think the book 
that influenced me most for good was the L^ife of Frank- 
lin, written by himself. That is a book that every boy 
and every young man should read and study, and try to 
imitate the Doctor's industry and perseverance, and 
shun those errors that he acknowledges to having com- 
mitted ; and if you boys have never read it, I hope you 
will do so by all means. There are a great many books 
from which you can obtain more of useful knowledge 
than you can from that, but I suppose you were referring 
again to those small things from which 'great results are 
obtained ; and amongst those small publications, the l^ife 
of Franklin is one. Another very small publication that 
I read when I was a boy, had something to do, I think, in 
shaping my after course; the title of the pamphlet I 
have forgotten, but the contents of it I have not forgot- 
ten, though it has been more than fifty years since I saw 
it, and then only for a few days. It was a poem upon 
the evils of whisky-drinking; my younger brothers 
brought it home with them from school, and in less than 
a week returned it to the owner, and I have not seen it 
since. During the few days it remained, I read it over 
several times, and was surprised, a few days after it was 
gone, to find I could repeat it stanza after stanza, from 
first to last, though I had never read it with the view of 
committing it to memory. It was a good long poem of 
several pages, and often since, while following the 
plow, I have repeated it from beginning to end; and I 
think I could do so yet. That little pamphlet may have 
been one cause, if not the principal one, of my being 
what I am to-day, and what I have , been for more than 
forty years — a total abstainer. 

Charley — It must have been a very interesting poem; 
and if I could get hold of it, I think I would try to mem- 
orize it also, and see if I could retain it in memory as 
you have done ; and possibly profit by it, too, in this age 
of whisky-drinking. 



SMAI^L CAUSES AND LARGE RESULTS. 1 73 

John — See here, Charley, Uncle Ben says he thinks he 
could repeat the poem yet ; let us persuade him to do so for 
our benefit; I almost know he will. Will you not, Uncle? 
Uncle hen. — Yes, if you desire it ; and if you think 
you can memorize it, and will earnestly endeavor to do 
so, I will write it out for you, and then you can read it 
yourselves; and also lend it to some other boy, as it was 
lent to me ; some of your associates who are in the habit 
of dram-drinking, as I once was ; and it may save them, 
as it probably saved me, from being a drunkard; and if 
so, the unknown author of the poem may have all the 
credit of it. As I said, I have forgotten the title of the 
poem, but I think it might with propriety be called — 

LIQUID STUFF AND ITS DOINGS. 

There is a kind of liquid stuff, 

Of which, when you have drunk enough, 

I caution you to quit; 
For if you drink, and drink again, 
'Twill soon intoxicate the brain, 
And endless evils bring in train. 

By thus abusing it. 

'Twill cause the passions high to rage. 
And force you headlong on the stage. 

Devoid of reason's rule; 
And as you run the random route, 
Twill whirl you round and round about. 
And turn the sober senses out. 

And make you — what a fool ! 

Still if the sottish path you tread, 
'Twill down on your distracted head 

The floods of sorrow pour ; 
Each home-felt pleasure 'twill annoy, 
Kmbitter every social joy, 
And health and wealth and life destroy 

And ruin evermore. 

Oh ! if I did not courage lack 
The hardy drunkard to attack. 
Or had I wit and fire. 



174 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

I'd Straight with indignation rise, 
As if commissioned from the skies 
To shame and turn the foolish wise, 
Reformed by keen satire. 

Oh ! could I pierce him to the quick, 
And make the pointed arrow stick 

Fast in his conscience sore, 
I'd at a venture draw the bow, 
And let the shaft in mercy go, 
That he might see and mourn his woe, 

And give his follies o'er. 

Nor would I spare the smiting hand, 
Till all his cousins in the land 

Had each received his due; 
For, lo ! he has a host of kin, 
Swift votaries to his deadly sin. 
Who, if not checked, may soon begin 

To swell the sottish crew. 

Though mean I am, and all obscure. 
And weak, and ignorant, and poor. 

Yet if the Muse would yield 
The service of her bow and string, 
Her quiver, and her soaring wing, 
I'd straight into the action spring. 

Upon the battle field. 

When Sol assumes his morning race. 
And sheds the glories of his face 

O'er all the smiling world. 
And each industrious man anew 
Begins his labors to pursue, 
Rejoicing in the pleasing view 

Of business wide unfurled, 

With hasty steps the drunkard will 
Repair to tavern, store, or still. 

And spend his half a crown, 
Until his head so giddy feels. 
So much unbalanced with his heels, 
That to and fro he reels and reels. 

And reeling tumbles down. 



SMALL CAUSES AND LARGE RESULTS. 1 75 

Mark now, ye wise, the shameful wretch ; 
Hear him groan, and see him stretch 

And struggle for his breath; 
He vomits like the brute, alas ! 
And belches forth offensive gas, 
And seems as if about to pass 

The solemn scene of death. 

Is this the man which yesterday 
I met upon the public way, 

In garments neat and clean? 
Ah, yes ! 'tis he, and who'd have thought 
To see him thus so lowh' brought, 
So quickly and so loosely caught 

In actions all so mean? 

In vain the partner of his life. 
His prudent and industrious wife, 

Would make his linen shine; 
In spite of all her time and pains, 
While brandy still his pocket drains. 
And garments marked with dirty stains, 

He mocks the filthy swine. 

At home, perhaps, his family 
Are waiting his return to see; 

But, ah, they wait in vain ! 
Stretched out he lies where first he lay; 
And still the hours pass away. 
And evening closes up the day, 

Ere he returns again. 

At length, when all should be asleep, 
Homeward the wretch begins to creep, 

Half conscious of his deeds; 
When rakes and robbers skulk about, 
'Tis then he takes his blundering route. 
As staggering in and staggering out 

The path that homeward leads. 

And when, at last, his journey ends, 
The peaceful slumbers of his friends 
Are broken by his noise. 



176 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDENT TIMES. 

And those who ought to love him best 
Bewail him as a woeful guest ; 
In sad and dire distraction dressed, 
Their comfort he destroys. 

Nor could you hear his curses loud — 
As though he were of Satan's crowd — 

In all directions flung ; 
Your very flesh would seem to creep, 
Your eyes perhaps in tears would weep. 
Till, rudely staggering ofi" to sleep. 

He deigns to hold his tongue. 

When morning shines around his pate, 
He rises from his bed, though late. 

And sits down, sad and sour ; 
If frugal wife her finger crooks. 
Full soon he gathers, from her looks. 
His conduct she but little brooks ; 

But, ah, she's in his power ! 

He who, but for this hateful sin. 

The best of husbands might have been. 

Of fathers, brothers, friends. 
Become the tyrant of his wife, 
A source of misery and strife; 
Nor with the period of his life 

This baleful mischief ends. 

But now his conscience keenly smarts, 
And, lo ! again for grog he starts. 

As if to find relief; 
Mistaken soul ! can drinking drown 
The troubles that assail the crown ? 
'Twill only pull ten thousand down, 

To swell thy stores of grief. f 

And now he moves with lithes'ome hope, ^i 

Again he greets the brandy-shop, i 

And gives himself abuse ; jl 

His master passion, bearing sway, > 

Impels him on the beaten way, ■ 

Till he at length begins to play .■ , 

The tiger or the goose. \ 



SMALL CAUSES AND LA.RGE RESULTS. 1 77 

For drink he calls, and drinks again, 
Although to every one 'tis plain 

'Twill be his ruin soon ; 
And graciously he condescends 
To treat his boon-companion friends, 
And drinks with them until he spends 

His last, last picayune.* 

And as, amid his flowing cups, 
The strange bewildering tea he sups. 

He sings and chatters long ; 
He all the living world defies, 
Than Solomon himself more wise. 
And Samson, ere he lost his eyes, 

Was never half so strong. 

But as he seems to sail so fair — 
Three sheets are fluttering in the air ; 

And now the rising blast 
Increases loudly, on his rear. 
While he, in fact, can hardly steer, , 
Yet rocks and shoals he does not fear. 

Till topsy-turvy cast. 

Still craving what he most adores, 
See how the liquid stuff he pours 

Adown his gaping throat ! 
And still the raging fumes aspire 
To set his tuneful top on fire ; 
Again he tumbles in the mire. 

Again he soils his coat. 

Poor fellow ! now he stranded lies ; 
In doleful plight he lifts his eyes. 

As round his luckless bark 
A raging ocean seems to roar — 
Without a bottom or a shore ; 
While all the world is turning o'er. 

Amid the billows dark. 

Ye laugh ; but make him not a joke — 
His canvass lowered, his cable broke ; 
With all your deep disgust. 



•Six and a fourth cents. 

— la— 



lyS RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES- 

Some pity on his worthless name 
The graceless one appears to claim ; 

spare his misery and shame, 
Ye children of the dust ! 

Time was when he was sober, true ; 
Time was when he walked firm as you 

Before the dram-shop doors ; 
We cannot read our future state ; 
It may be at some future date 
This drunkard's lot may be the fate — 

The fate of you or yours. 

But leaving now the fallen sot 
To puke and snore upon the spot 
Where all so drunk he lies, 

1 fain would turn some other way, 
For many things have I to say, 
And short and evil is the day 

That mortal man supplies. 

Hark ! all the ranks of human race, 
In every state, in every place, 

Throughout this earthly ball : 
Long as the vital air you snuflf, 
Be cautious of this liquid stuff, 
And quit when 5^ou have drunk enough, 

Or taste it not at all! 

Let all the drunkard's cousins dread 
The thing that so distracts his head. 

And covers him with woe ; 
Oh, let them fly, before too late. 
Intoxication's every bait. 
And press to yonder smiling gate. 

Where gospel blessings flow. 

But yonder is a sight, indeed, 

That makes my very heart to bleed ; 

O tell it not in Gath ! 
But through the streets of Askelon 
Already has the rumor gone, 
And proud Philistines, every son. 

Laughs loud, or mutters wrath. 



SMALL CAUSES AND LARGE RESULTS. 1 79 

'Tis Israel's wretchedness I view; 
Oh, that it never had been true 

The spacious earth around ! 
For while the heathen takes a sup, 
The Israelite must have his cup. 
And, lo ! the liquid turns him up, 

All prostrate on the ground. 

Is this the man which late I saw 
Nigh to the sacred altar draw, 

And pour his pious breath ? 
Alas, 'tis he ! returned again 
To wallow like the sow, 'tis plain. 
We thought was washed from every stain ; 

O madness, scandal, death ! 

The love of God forsakes him now ; 
Shorn of his locks, is he, I trow. 

As weak as other men ; 
And out of those who thus away 
From virtue's paths depart and stray. 
How many are reclaimed, I say? 

Look round — not one in ten ! 

Then, Israelite, be on your guard; 
Dare not suppose the task too hard, 

But open keep your eyes; 
Lest, like the silly candle fly. 
That plays around the danger nigh, 
You fall by acting heedlessly. 

And fall, no more to rise. 

Strange that the sons of Adam's race 
Can swallow thus their own disgrace. 

And publish loud their shame ! 
Strange that a man of common sense. 
When once beset with this offense, 
Can be incited to commence 

Another of the same ! 

Strange that a man, when bitten once. 
Will act the idiotic dunce, 
And seek the snake again ! 



l8o RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

Strange that experience will not teach 
The maxim common sense would preach: 
When bitten once, keep out of reach 
Of that which gave you pain. 

But if you be advanced in years, 

And long have tried to drown your cares 

In the full flowing bowl, 
To you, perhaps, I speak in vain; 
I fear you will get drunk again. 
And end your mortal days in pain, 

And lose, perhaps, your soul. 

But if you be a lovely youth, 

Whose mind would fain embrace the truth, 

Mark well, my son, this page; 
To YOU I dedicate my song; 
Your habits yet cannot be strong. 
Because you have not erred so long 

As those of riper age : 

Feed not this appetite at first. 
For fear this sly, deceitful thirst 

Should strengthen with your strength ; 
Should force you from your peaceful home 
With idle company to roam ; 
And what is worse by far — become 

Unquenchable at length. 

A shameful sot, then, if you please. 
Made and accomplished by degrees, 

Alas, my son, you'd be ! 
And from that sin you once abhorred. 
Forbid by heaven's Almighty lyord, 
No threat, no counsel, no reward. 

Perhaps, could set you free. 

The tears of your relations then, 
The sympathies of other men, 

Would be of no avail ; 
In love with sottish pleasures, you 
Would hug your chains, and still pursue 
Old Bacchus and his motley crew, 

'Till Hfe itself would fail. 



SMAI,!, CAUSKvS AND LARGE RE;SUI.TS. 

Escape for life, my son, escape ! 
The evil oue has taken shape. 

And stands behind the bar; 
Heed not the tempter's winning smiles, 
Beware, beware the serpent's wiles, 
And flee before you're in his coils — 

Put him behind you far. 

But still, my son, attention lend. 

For still the Muse her bow would bend, 

And often twang the string, 
Or let the pointed arrow go 
To lay the looks of sinners low, 
As o'er his vast expanse of woe 

She sails on venturous wing. 

There's some the liquid stuff abuse, 
And strangely, still themselves excuse, 

Because they drink at home; 
Although the public's gazing eye 
Sees not their tippling, all so sly. 
The God of all, who rules on high, 

Knows, and will seal their doom. 

What ill examples do they place 
Before the young and rising race, 

In many a drunken song; 
What real misery attends 
The fortunes of their nearest friends, 
While God so kindly condescends 

To bear their crimes so long ! 

Great God ! have pity on the sire 
Who tutors for eternal fire 

His own dear children still; 
Oh ! save them from the cruel snare, 
According to the mother's prayer, 
And bring them all in mercy where 

Examples cannot kill ! 

Some others yet themselves acquit, 
Because they don't the crime commit 
In its most filthy show ; 



1 82 RURAL, RHYMERS AND OI^DEN TIMKS. 

These are the drunkard's cousins, kin, 
Who love to drink the whisky in, 
And oft approach his deadly sin, 
As near as they dare go. 

But while they still can keep the road, 
And still support the fumy load — 

Though one more dram would do 
To stop them on the public way — 
It would be slanderous to say 
That they were drunk on such a day — 

The charge would be untrue. 

How far these gentry are to blame, 
How great their wickedness and shame, 

God only can declare ; 
And since His boundless grace is such, 
Still hoping they may never touch 
That other little sip, too much, 

I leave them in His care. 

O whisky ! whisky ! dreadful bane ! 
What millions hast thou rudely slain, 

And clothed with rags indeed ! 
And pinched with hunger, thirst, and cold; 
But now the world is growing old, 
Say, wilt thou be, as ever bold 

To make the nations bleed? 

In every age, in every state, 
Thy mischiefs who can calculate, 

Since Noah's flood was high ? 
But, ah ! the paths are not thy own ; 
If men would but let thee alone, 
Thou wouldst not make such numbers groan, 

And suffer, bleed, and die. 

Their noses red thou wouldst liot turn, 
Nor bloat their cheeks, nor livers burn. 

Nor swell their watery eyes; 
Nor wouldst thou make the widow's wail 
To move distressful on the gale, 
And round the world in sorrow sail, 

Mixed with orphans' cries. 



SMALI, CAUSES AND LARGE RESULTS. 1 83 

Nor wouldst thou make the suicide 
Pour from his heart the purple tide, 

Ivife's miseries to drown; 
Nor wouldst thou aim the duel's lead, 
To strike an angry brother dead. 
And send him where he well may dread 

To meet his Maker's frown. 

Let those who sell the poiso7i, too, 
Be careful what they say and do. 

Though money much they crave ; 
Lest, with the whisky bands, at last 
They be condemned, when life is past. 
And bound in chains of darkness fast. 

Beyond the solemn grave. 

Let those of guileless worth beware 
To shun the bottle's cruel snare, 

Whatever they may love ; 
And sweetly cleave, with all their might, 
To paths of permanent delight. 
Until they make their mystic flight 

To better worlds above. 

But, ah ! the drunkards' dreadful throats ! 
One swallows horses, cows, and goats. 

Another tables, knives, and saws ; 
Another beds, and rocking chairs ; 
Another carts, and yokes of steers. 
While yet another never fears. 

As down a farm he draws. 

Some gulp down madly cards and reels. 
Some boots and shoes, and spinning-wheels, 

Some anvils, tongs, and pots ; 
While others yet, of greater power, 
Fine houses, lands, and slaves devour ; 
And, lo ! from that disgraceful hour, 

They sneak detested sots. 

That men are blamed for all 'tis true; 
But, oh ! when women tipple, too. 
What language can declare. 



■84 RURAI, RHYMES AND OI^DEN TIMES. 

What poet would not blush to trace 
The infamy and dark disgrace 
That straight becloud the female face, 
And blast their beauties fair? 

Oh ! could the tippling ladies know 
What shocking sights they are below, — 

Unfit to live or die ! — 
Surely, their credit to restore, 
They never would be tipsy more. 
But to the men this vice give o'er 

Without a single sigh. 

Now^ all around, with spacious view. 
Behold the stronger sex anew ; 

What capers they do take ! 
Soon as a drop is in the eye, 
How glib the tongue begins to fly, 
What foolish jokes and banters high 

In constant volleys break ! 

But whether they have taken in 
Rum, brandy, whisky, wine, or gin, 

It still is liquid stuff; 
And still amid the raging flame, 
Their manners are the ver^^ same — 
O'erspread with vice, and fraught with shame. 

Disgusting, wild, and rough. 

What various causes made them learn 
Their little fingers up to turn — 

All evil in some way ; 
What numerous evils thus begin 
From this prolific mother sin, 
That thousand souls may never win 

The bliss of endless day. 

Now if you wish the snare to shtin, 
Do not with gangs of sinners run. 

Where tippling is in vogue ; 
Your backs upon the practice turn — 
O can you not the snare discern ? 
Why should you, to your damage, learn 

To love the smell oi grogf 



SMALL CAUSES AND LARGU RESULTS. 1 85 

If needful business calls away, 
To such a place, on such a day. 

You hither may repair, 
With prudent and with cautious face ; 
But, oh ! if this be not the case, 
You should not run the needless race, 

For you've no business there. 

Full many a man you've seen, I trow, 
Who stood as firm as j^ou stand now, 

Who since has fallen low ; 
And if you ask me for the cause : 
'Twas violating Nature's laws 
With liquid stuff ! But here I pause — 

His end I cannot show. 

Why does that skillful doctor seem 
To lose his practice, like a dream? 

Why fails yon preacher so ? 
What makes the world yon lawyer quit, 
Who once in Congress hall did sit, 
A drone — for business now unfit? 

O whisky, thou dost know! 

With thee, behold ! the silly crowd 
Can raise the roar of laughter loud ; 

And, strange it is to think, 
The beverage boiling in their throats 
Can make them shout with noisy notes, 
And basely give their very votes 

To him who pays the drink. 

Oh, what a danger's lurking there ! 
" God save us from it! " is the prayer 

Of every patriot heart. 
Oh, never, never be it told 
That our elections are controlled 
By drunken voters, bought and sold 

L,ike cattle in the mart! 

O fair Columbia ! while the sword 
Of Britain's high, imperious lord 
In vain would slay thy pride, 



1 86 RURAL RHYMES AND OI^DEN TIMES. 

Shall JJQUID STUFF, more powerful 
Than all the horns of Johnny Bull, 
The fruits of all our freedom pull 
And scatter far and wide ? 

Forbid it, thou Almighty L<ord, 

Who swayest the nation with Thy word ! 

This evil far disperse. 
And let the tree of Freedom rise, 
To all mankind a glorious prize, 
Until its branches reach the skies 

And shade the universe ! 



DA VI nS FLIGHT FROM JERUSALEM AND 
THE DEATH OF ABSALOM. 

A monarch of the olden time. 

One famed in ancient story. 
Reigned in a far-off eastern clime 

Till he was aged and hoary. 

IvOng time in regal state he reigned, 

And builded many a tower ; 
And mighty men the king sustained 

In all his regal power. 

At length there came an evil day ; 

The king was troubled sorely. 
A son, ambitious, stole away 

His people's heart, most surely. 

Great numbers of the mighty men, 

Ambitious as their leader, 
Flocked to the rebel standard then. 

And joined the vain seceder. 

Still daily, hourly, gathering strength, 
Sedition's ranks were swelling, 

Until the king resolved at length 
To flee his royal dwelling. 

The mountain city, where he reigned, 

He left with heavy burden. 
And with the faithful that remained. 

He fled toward the Jordan. 



DAVID'S FI^IGHT AND DEJATH OF ABSAI^OM. 1 87 

With Cherethite and Pelethite, 

The true and tried six hundred, 
He saved himself and them by flight; 

But many a tie was sundered. 

The city of the Jebusite, 

Which he in war had taken, 
Jerusalem, on mountain height, 

Was in his grief forsaken. 

Across the mount of Olivet, 

Beyond the flowing Kedron, 
They fled, while Absalom was yet 

Mustering his force at Hebron. 

His royal robes aside were cast, 

Barefooted, onward keeping, 
While rocks and mountains, as he passed, 

Echoed the voice of weeping. 

Not only by ungrateful son 

And loss of kingdom haunted. 
Some of his subjects, following on, 

The fleeing monarch taunted. 

"Go up, thou bloody man," they said, 

"Thou man of false Belial ! 
Thy deeds of blood upon thy head 

Return in times of trial." 

Thus Shimei cursed him as he went — 

Cursed David, in his trouble ; 
Even Shimei, the sycophant. 

With face and actions double. 

The weeping king replied to them 
Who would have slain the railer: 

"Nay, nay; no notice take of him!" 
(And here his face grew paler.) 

"Heed not the man ; one of my own 

Proud sons my life is seeking ; 
Then let this Benjamite alone, 

Nor heed his cruel speaking. 



RURAI, RHYMES AND OI^DEJN TIMES. 

"Perhaps the Lord hath bidden him 
Curse me, in this my anguish ; 

And though he slay me, I will hymn 
God's praises while I languish. 

"The Lord, perhaps, will me requite, 

If well I bear my sorrow ; 
Though dark and cheerless be the night. 

The sun may shine to-morrow. 

"While moving on the desert tract, 
O'er rocks and mountains barren, 

He sent the Ark of covenant back, 
By trusty sons of Aaron. 

"Go, take it to the city then. 

And in its place restore it ; 
Perhaps I may return again, 

And worship God before it. 

"There I again may sacrifice — 

I hope again to see it — 
But if the Lord will otherwise. 

His will be done ; so be it. 

"You, too, go back, my Archite friend, 

Go back into the city ; 
You better there may serve my end, 

If you on me have pity. 

"Go back, and stand before my son, 
From whom I'm now retreating ; 

Find out the thing that's said and done, 
His counselor defeating. 

"You have the son of Zadok there, 

The son of Abiathar ; 
You'll send by them the words you hear, 

And, mind you, that you stay there. 

"Beyond the mountains, on the plain 

Of Jordan, will I tarry ; 
Ahimaaz and Jonathan 

To me will tidings carry." 



DAVID'S FLIGHT AND DEATH OF ABSALOM. 1 89 

The stricken king, oppressed with care, 

Came to the plain of Jordan ; 
'Twas there he made the famous prayer, 

The Psalm of David — third one. 

Night came, and darkness reigned around ; 

While some a watch were keeping. 
The wearied king relief had found 

From grief, in quiet sleeping. 

The midnight came, and still he slept ; 

But soon there came a waking — 
Two messengers, that lightly stepped. 

Toward him their course were taking. 

"Ho! who be ye?" the sentry cries, 
"And what is now your mission? 

Come you as friends, or come as spies 
To note our sad condition?" 

"We come as friends, and not as spies ; 

No enemy or stranger ; 
We come from Hushai to apprise 

Our monarch of his danger. 

The messengers unto the king 

In haste were then conducted, 
And they reported everything, 

As they had been instructed. 

"We left at setting of the sun. 

Nor have thy servants tarried ; 
'Tis far and fast that we have run, 

And safely tidings carried. 

"The word that Hushai sent us, then : 

King Absalom's in the city, 
And with him are twelve thousand men, 

All, all, devoid of pity. 

"He seeks your crown — your life, I mean ; 

No truth than this is truer ; 
Make haste, and put the Jordan 'tween 

Yourself and your pursuer. 



I go RURAL RHYMES AND OI.DEN TIMES. 

"Arise, across the Jordan flee 
Before the next sun-rising ; 

Cross o'er the waters, lest you see 
The mischief he's devising. 

"Ahithophel, the Gilonite, 
Has cruel counsel given — 

To hurry the pursuit to-night, 
And slay the shepherd even. 

"Cross o'er the Jordan, though the air 
And though the night be stormy ; 

Adherents sure will join you there — 
And Joab, with the army." 

Uprising to his worn, bare feet, 
The king, with grief distressing, 

Sounded the bugle note, retreat — 
Still toward the Jordan pressing. 

Now slowly moves the cavalcade; 

With fear and cold they shiver. 
And deeply, deeply on they wade 

Across the rapid river. 

And when the early dawning came, 
Even at the early morning, 

All, all had passed the Jordan stream, 
Thanks to the timely warning. 

And when upon the other side. 
His subjects, true and loyal. 

Came from the regions far and wide, 
To meet their monarch royal. 

And valiant warriors, day by day, 
Came in and joined his standard, 

As farther north they made their way. 
And 'mongst the hills meandered. 

To Old Mahanaim they post ; 

There Jacob met his brother ; 
'Twas there that Joab, with his host, 

Was joined unto the other. 



DAVID'S FLIGHT AND DEATH OF ABSALOM. I9I 

And it was told to David then : 

"Your son has massed his forces, 
Perhaps a hundred thousand men, 

With chariots and with horses. 

"And he has left Jerusalem, too. 

And onward here is posting ; 
Go forth, and let your servants true 

Check his ambitious boasting." 

He called to him Abishai, 

The captain, Joab hoary ; 
He called the younger Ittai, 

In the morning of his glory. 

Dividing then his force in three, 

A third to each assigning, 
He said : "I, too, will go with thee, 

Our counsels all combining." 

But thus replied those worthy braves : 

"Thou shalt not run in danger; 
Thy death is all that Absalom craves; 

He cares not for the stranger. 

"Thy life is all that stands between 
Him and the throne he's seeking ; 

He cares not for such soldiers mean 
As those to whom thou'rt speaking. 

"Here, at Mahanaim, abide. 

Thy cause to God commended ; 
The God of battle's on our side, 

The strife will soon be ended." 

Then spake the old, gray-headed king : 

"Be it as ye are saying ; 
Whilst you are there all battling, 

To God will I be praying. 

"lyCad on, lead on, my captains bold. 

My chieftains, bold and lusty ! 
Ye have been tried in days of old, 

And proved yourselves all trusty. 



192 RURAI, RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

"But there's a charge I fain would give 

To each before departing ; 
Not else in peace can I e'er live — 

You see my tears are starting. 

"Deal gently with my erring son, 

Deal gently with the erring; 
I know a grievous wrong he's done, 

And bloody deeds I'm fearing. 

"But still he is my son; my son I 

To whom I have been partial; 
Deal gently, for my sake, with one 

So noble, fair, and martial. 

" He may reform in days to come, , 

And smooth my years declining; '= 

Deal gently, then with Absalom, 
Who round my heart is twining." 

And thus he spake to all that day, 

As filing by and cheering: 
"Deal gently, for my sake, I pray, 

With Absalom, the erring." i 

And now the troops had marched away; 

The distance intervening 
Shut them from sight, and all the day. 

Upon Jehovah leaning, 

He prayed that psalm, the forty-third; 

He prayed for restoration 
Unto the temple of the Lord, 

The God of all salvation. 

And as he sat between the gates, 

The day away was wearing ; 
He thought upon life's varied fates, 

The good and ill comparing. 

His youthful days — he thought of them, 

When, but a gentle shepherd. 
He ranged the fields of Bethlehem, 

As active as the leopard ; 



DAVID S FLIGHT AND DEATH OF ABSALOM. I93 

When Samuel, the prophet, came, 

To sacrifice appointed, 
And from the sons selected him, 

And him as king anointed. 

He thought when, on another day, 

Of fame the first beginning. 
He took Goliath's head away, 

A famous victory winning. 

And then again he thought of all 

His weary, weary wandering, 
While fleeing from the face of Saul — 

And later scenes still pondering. 

But still away to Kphraim's wood 
The monarch's mind would wander; 

Ah, well he knew a scene of blood 
Was then enacting yonder ! 

His friends, his soldiers, 'gainst his son 

In battle fierce contending. 
Ah ! who has lost and who has won ? 

There's much on that depending. 

"O God, give victory to my arms ! 

My kingdom still maintaining ; 
But, oh ! preserve my son from harm. 

His wayward will restraining. 

"Go, watchman, go above the gate ; 

Stand on the loftiest tower, 
And see who comes ; I'll know my fate, 

Perhaps, within the hour." 

The hours pass ; 'tis growing late ; 

A psalm the king is humming ; 
"Ho !" cries the watchman 'bove the gate, 

"A runner lone is coming." 

"Comes he alone, alone from thence? 

Then tidings he is bringing. 
Oh ! can I bear the wild suspense 

That now my heart is wringing? 

—13- 



194 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

Look, watchman, from that lofty place, 
That place you well can see from ; 

Say, is there naught of rout or chase 
Toward the wood of Ephraim? " 

Nay, naught toward the setting sun. 
Naught but the runner only — 

Yes, now I see another one ; 
He, too, is running lonely." 

"Then, if alone, he tidings brings; 

A messenger he's coming. 
Oh, how suspense my bosom wrings. 

My weary sense benumbing!" 

" The foremost comes ! " the watchman cries, 
"The moats and ditches shunning; 

'Tis Zadok's son, Ahimaaz, 
I take it, from his running." 

"Then, if 'tis he," replies the king, 
"A good and true man, surely. 

And tidings good no doubt will bring — 
I'm feeling more securely." 

Ahimaaz drew near and fell 

Upon his face and shouted : 
" Peace be to thee ! for all is well; 

Thine enemies are routed. 

"Blessed be the Lord of all the land! 

He's done as he appointed 
To them who lifted up the hand 

Against the Lord's anointed." 

"Thank Heaven! " exclaimed the hoary chief 
" Thank God for victory giving ! 

But is the young man Absalom safe? 
Is Absalom safe and living?"' 

The messenger then answering said, 

With something like evasion : 
"I cannot say that Absalom's dead 

Or safe, on this occasion. 



David's flight and death of absalom. 195 

" When Joab sent your servants here, 
The chiefs were then convening ; 

I saw a mighty tumult there, 
But could not tell its meaning. 

" Cushi, the swift, will soon be here. 

And he may have the summing." 
" Then turn aside," the king replied ; 

" We'll wait for Cushi's coming." 

Then Cushi comes, and bowing, says: 

"Tidings! for God has surely 
Avenged you of your enemies, 

And punished them full sorely." 

But David checked his message brief — 
" There's one thing I would say thee : 

Is Absalom, the young man, safe, 
Is Absalom safe, I pray thee? " 

Then Cushi, like Ahimaaz, 

Faltered, with some misgiving. 
But intimating plain, he is 

No longer 'mongst the living. 

" May all thy foes, thy enemies. 
Who fain would mischief do thee. 

Be where the young man Absalom is. 
No longer to pursue thee." 

Then, weeping sorely, David went 

And to his chamber hasted, 
And gave the tears of sorrow vent, 

lyike one whom grief has wasted. 

" O Absalom, my son, my son ! 

The son of my desiring ! 
Thou wast my son, my cherished one, 

Though 'gainst thy sire conspiring. 

" O Absalom, my son, my son! 

Would God thy father's dying 
Had saved thy life, my son, my son! 

Before this hour so trying. 



196 RURA.L RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

"They say there's none disputes my power, 
My kingdom's still remaining ; 

But Absalom my son's no more, 
To bless me in my reigning ! 

" My royalty's preserved to me, 
With none my power defying ; 

But, O my son ! I'll think of thee, 
Deep in thy cold grave lying ! 

"And though the harp, like music's dream. 
With men and women singing, 

May strive to cheer, they'll only seem 
lyike funeral dirges ringing." 



WRITTEN JN A LADY'S ALBUM. 



When, at a distant future day, 

You cast your eye upon this page. 

The writer may be far away. 

Or may have left life's busy stage. 

Though ocean's waves should roll between 
These lines of mine, my friends, and me. 

Yet think of me and what I've been. 
When these few lines you chance to see. 

And should I lie low in the ground. 
And dark oblivion's waves roll o'er. 

This simple page will then be found 
A monument on memory's shore. 

'Twill point your thoughts from present things 
To things that long have passed away, 

And long-forgotten scenes 'twijl bring 
To your awakened memory. 

Then view this page as you would view 
A friend's cold monumental stone; 

And, oh! may we again renew 

Our friendship near the jasper throne. 



A WORLD OF change; IS THIS. I97 

And when we meet beyond the stars, 
Within that radiant world of bliss, 

Our friendship will be purer far 

Than that which we have known in this. 



A WORLD OF CHANGE IS THIS. 



This is a changing world of ours, 

A world of change is this ; 
All fading are its fairest flowers, 

And transient every bliss. 

Yes, change is written on the face 

Of all beneath the sun ; 
And short and devious is the race 

That we poor mortals run. 

The friends who prize us most to-day 

May be the first to leave ; 
And those we prize the dearest may 

Our fondest hopes deceive. 

Or Death, perhaps, uncalled may come, 
And snatch those friends from us ; 

Ah ! do we not remember some 
Who have been taken thus? 

Where, where are those we held so dear, 

The friends of early youth ! 
The Grave replies, " I have them here;" 

And 'tis a mournful truth. 

Then let the years revolving roll 

With Time's incessant flow ; 
We soon shall reach a brighter goal. 

No further change to know. 



RURAI, RHYMKS AND OLDEN TIMES. 

DEATH OF A FRIEND IN 1856. 



I stood beside a dying friend, 
And watched his parting breath, 

And when I saw his struggles end, 
I asked, "Can this be death ?" 

Full well I know 'tis temporal death — 

The rending of the screen 
That hides from mortals here beneath 

The world we have not seen. 

But there's another death than this, 

A death that never dies ; 
And there's a life of joy and bliss, 

A life beyond the skies. 

For " 'Tis not all of life to live, 

Nor all of death to die ;" 
The fleeting joys this earth can give 

Are naught to those on high. 

Then let us try, while here on earth, 

In this lone vale of sighs. 
To shun that ever- dying death, 

Which never, never dies ; 

And seek that life, that living life, 
That's only known above — 

Where joys, perpetual joys are rife, 
And God is served in love. 

There may I meet that friend again. 
Whose suflferings here are o'er. 

And range with him the heavenly plain, 
Where sufferings are no more. 

Then let me bid thee welcome, Death, 
When thou shalt rend the screen 

That hides from mortals here beneath 
The world we have not seen. 



THE SxNfOW-FlvAKE. I99 

TO A FRIEND. 



Written in an Album. 

The time may shortly come when we 

By distance may be parted ; 
Our joys may fade and hopes may flee, 

And plans of life be thwarted. 
Long years may pass ere we again 

Shall see each other's faces ; 
And anxious care, with grief and pain. 

May leave on us their traces. 

But let me hope, what e'er may come, 

What e'er may be life's changes. 
Where e'er I be, where e'er I roam. 

As Providence arranges. 
That you will not forget the friend 

Who pens these lines so simple ; 
But may your prayers for him ascend, 

And reach the inner temple. 

Perhaps in coming years you'll see 

(In looking o'er these pages) 
These lines of mine ; then think of me, 

And think of by-gone stages ; 
For life is like a traveling scene. 

Where passengers are meeting ; 
They meet, they part — how oft, how soon. 

Farewell succeeds to greeting! 



THE SNO W-FLAKE. 



To a Friend. 

A flake of snow; both large and light, 

Was formed in upper air. 
And passing o'er a mountain's height, 

Slowly descended there. 

But ere it fell upon the crest, 

'Twas parted into two. 
And, driven on the wintry blast, 

In different currents flew. 



200 RURAL RHYMKS AND OLDEN TIMES. 

One fell upon the western slope, 

And one upon the east ; 
And there they both lay frozen up 

For twenty weeks at least. 

But when the sun again shone warm, 
And shed his genial rays. 

They melted to a liquid form. 
And glided different ways. 

Uniting now with other drops. 
They form two tiny streams. 

And trickle down the mountain slopes, 
Where many a glacier gleams. 

Adown the mountain's different sides. 
Toward different points, they run. 

And further from each other glides 
Those flakes which once were one. 

Now wider, and still wider grows 
The space which lies between ; 

And faster, and still faster flows 
The streams which they are in. 

Still onward borne away, away, 
To east and western main ; 

Alas ! alas ! will ever they 
Be joined in one again? 

Two kindred minds to them compare. 
By friendship joined as one ; 

Parted by trifles light as air, 
Two different paths to run. 

The separation, small at first. 

Grows wider by degrees; 
Till, thoughts and actions all reversed, 

They're merged in different 'seas. 

Oh, may it never be our lot 

To be divided thus ! 
But ever may the self-same spot 

Be occupied by us.* 



*Two thousand miles now separate the writer from the friend to whom 
these lines were addressed. 



PASSING AWAY. 20I 

VANITY OF VANITIES! ALL IS VANITY!'' 



Hurrying on, and onward still, 

Trifles light we all pursue ; 
Grasping after shadows till 

Death's dark shade appears in view. 
Vain are all things here on earth, 
Well we know; 
Bliss in vain on earth is sought, 
For, with disappointments fraught, 
All our schemes have come to naught. 
Here below. 

What is wealth, and what is fame, 

After which we're toiling so? 
Soon we go from whence we came ; 
Dust we are, to dust we go : 

What are earthly pleasures then, 
When compared? 
Worse than vanity and dust ! 
And in them if we shall trust. 
Death will call, and go we must, 
Unprepared. 

Early friendships — what are they? 

Sunny spots within life's vale ; 
But, alas ! they pass away 
When the storms of grief prevail, 
Leaving us in darkness then, 
All alone. 
But the friendship that will last 
When our lives are overcast, 
I^eads us home and binds us fast 
To the throne. 



PASSING AWAY. 



Lines to a Friend; written in an Album. 

When days have passed, and first you see 

These hasty lines of mine, 
Then, as a friend, pray think of me, 

And count me one of thine. 



202 RURAIv RHYMES AND OLD^N TIMKS. 

When weeks have passed away, and you 

Shall look this page upon, 
In counting o'er your friends so true. 

May I be numbered one. 

When months have passed — and soon they must 

And you shall read again. 
Upon your list of friends, I trust, 

My name will still remain. 

When years have passed, and you again 

Shall read these pages o'er, 
In your esteem may I remain, 

A friend if nothing more. 

When /have passed from earth away — 

And soon that time may be — 
When you shall see these lines, you may 

Perhaps remember me. 

When you and / shall both have passed. 

And bade the world adieu. 
Then may our friendship ever last 

Eternal ages through. 

When Earth and earthly things have passed, 

And Time shall be no more, 
O that our lots may then be cast 

Upon a friendly shore ! 



WHY SHO ULD VAIN MOR TALS BE PR O UD f 



Oh, why should vain mortals, while toiling on earth, 

Be proud of their wealth or their fame? 
Or why should man boast of his rank or-his birth. 

Or strive to emblazon his name? 
How fleeting the moments to mortals allowed ! 

How quickly they come and pass on ! 
I^ike shadows that fall from a fast-flying cloud, 

They come and they pass and are gone ! 



WHY SHOULD VAIN MORTALS BE PROUD.-* 203 

Man claims to be lord of creation below, 

And boasts of his power of mind ; 
Can measure the wide-rolling planets, and know 

The orbits in which they're confined; 
In fancy can range o'er unlimited space, 

Or travel from star unto star ; 
Can follow the flight of a comet, and trace 

Its course as it wanders afar. 

But let him not be of his knowledge so vain, 

For others have had it before, 
And long in the dust those others have lain. 

And their names are remembered no more ; 
Forgotten the names of those men of renown 

Who the pyramids builded of 5^ore; 
The sun of their glory has long since gone down, 

And never will shine any more. 

Ah ! let him not boast of his power, although 

He may sit as a king on a throne, 
For others have sat there, and died long ago, 

And kings and their subjects are one ; 
The conqueror's wreath may encircle his brow, 

He may stand on the summit of fame. 
To the sway of his sceptre a nation may bow, 

And nations may quake at his name ; 

But what avails all? The river of Time 

Is silently bearing him on ; 
And monarchs and conquerors, now in their prime, 

In a few fleeting months will be gone ; 
Together they mingle, the high and the low — 

The lord with the vassal is laid ; 
To the grave the conquered and conquerors go, 

And there no distinctions are made. 

The prince and the peasant together meet there, 

And together are turning to dust ; 
They were toiling for fame, as we mortals are, 

And left it, as we shortly must ; 
Then let not the spirit of mortals be proud ! 

'Tis confined in a body of clay ; 
And soon will that bod)'- in Death's sable shroud, 

lyike everything mortal, decay. 



204 RURAI, RHYMES AND OIvD^N TIMES. 

Oh, let US be humble while here we sojourn 

In this land of probation and strife, 
That our spirits, made perfect, to God may return, 

And dwell there forever in life ! 
Those spirits were born in a heavenly clime, 

They were given to us from above ; 
And when they have triumphed o'er Sin, Death, and Time, 

They'll return unto God, who is L^ove. 



Z WENTY YEARS PAST. 



A Reminiscence written in 1854. 

On Sabbath last past I to church did repair, 

To the house of the I/ord at Lone Jack ; 
But throughout the service of preaching and prayer. 

My memory hurried me back, 
Back twenty years, back to the time I first heard 

The gospel proclaimed in the West ; 
'Tis the same gospel yet, 'tis the same written word. 

Whilst other things widely contrast. 

The face of the country has undergone change. 

And manners and customs change too ; 
And numbers of faces I see that are strange. 

And gone are the friends I then knew ; 
I remember the time, I remember the place, 

I remember the friends who were there — 
Those years have sped round, and it seems a brief space. 

But not one of those friends are now here. 

I remember the preacher,* whose time-furrowed face 

Was so often bedewed with a tear ; 
His doctrines were plain, and plain was his dress, 

For 'twas made from the skin of the de,er ; 
But he, too, has gone, and no more will I hear 

A message of truth from his lips ; 
On earth he has finished his mortal career. 

And far in the South he now sleeps. 

*James Savage. 



TWENTY YEARS PAST. 205 

We assembled that day in a rude cabin small — 

'Twas the home of a brave pioneer ;* 
The attendance was larger than usual, yet all 

Who wished it obtained a seat there. 
Tliat cabin still stands, though years have rolled round, 

And its builder has moved far away ; 
A spacious brick house on the farm now is found, 

And the cabin goes fast to decay. 

Then, radiant with hope, in life's morning so bright, 

My brother and I did repair. 
With hearts and with steps both elastic and light. 

To the house of devotion and prayer ; 
But now all in vain I may look for the face 

Of that brother, so sunny, so mild ; 
I will see him no more upon earth, for, alas ! 

He sleeps in the far western wild. 

My father and mother were there on that day, 

And their names in the church were enrolled ; 
But, ah ! that dear father, by Death called away, 

Now sleeps in the grave-yard so cold ; 
Oh, grief upon grief! for he sleeps not alone; 

My kindred have followed apace — 
Three brothers, a sister, a daughter, a son, 

Lie low in the same resting-place. 

And perhaps ere the earth shall again revolve round 

The great source of light and of heat, 
I, too, may rest with them beneath the cold ground, 

And this laboring heart cease to beat. 
When years have rolled round, and survivors meet here 

To worship the God of all grace, 
Perhaps I may meet, in a happier sphere. 

Those friends who have ended their race. 

*Thomas Hamlin. 



2o6 RURAL RHYMES AND OI.DEN TIMES. 

FM SITTING BY YOUR SIDE, MARY. 



Written in 1856, in imitation of " The Irish Emigrant." 

I'm sitting by your side, Mary, 

Upon your dying bed ; 
And busy thoughts are coursing through 

My pained and aching head. 

I'm thinking of the time, Mary, 

When you and I first met; 
And though our parting is at hand. 

That meeting's present yet. 

lyong years have passed since then, Mary, 

And changes have occurred ; 
But, oh ! a sadder change than all 

Cannot be long deferred. 

Your bloodless lips, your pallid cheek, 

Too plainly tell the tale. 
That you are passing now, Mary, 

Through Death's dark, gloomy vale. 

I'm sitting by your side, Mary, 

Although you see me not ; 
And when you're taken from my sight. 

You will not be forgot. 

I'll think of you, my Mary dear. 

In days and years to come ; 
Who shared my joys and sorrows here. 

In this, our humble home. 

And, oh ! I'm thinking now, Mary, 

My true, my constant wife. 
How lonely and how drearily . 

Will pass m}^ future life. 

Each scene will but remind me still 

Of days and years gone by ; 
And cherished objects often will 

Call forth the tearful sigh. 



LIFE AND DEATH, 207 

I'm gazing on this quilt, Mary, 

This quilt of patchwork made ; 
'Twas wrought by your own hands before 

Your beauty had decayed. 

And though 'tis worn and faded now, 

I prize it none the less ; 
For 'mongst its squares I recognize 

Part of your wedding dress. 

I'm thinking of our sons, Mary, 

Our sons and daughters too ; 
When you have gone and left us here, 

What will those children do? 

They'll have no mother's kind advice, 

No mother's watchful care. 
To keep them from the paths of vice 

And from the tempter's snare. 

You're bidding me a last farewell. 

My Mary, kind and true; 
But soon I hope to reach the clime 

That you are going to. 

In that fair clime there's room for all. 

And there's no parting there ; 
No death, no sorrow can be found 

In all that region fair ! 



LIFE AND DEATH. 



Ivike leaflets in the autumn sere, 

Our friends are round us falling, 
And we, who still are lingering here, 

But wait the Master's calling ; 
The chilling winds of death ere long 

Will one by one pass o'er us. 
And bear us to that buried throng 

Of friends who've gone before us. 

lyike stars declining in the west, 
One after one they're sinking 

Within the silent tomb to rest. 

From which we're vainly shrinking ; 



n 



208 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

And we, like thera, will sink ere long 
(We too are fast declining) ; 

And soon will cease to chine among 
The stars that may be shining. 

lyike roses which in beauty bloom, 

One after one they wither, 
Their beauty buried in the tomb. 

For death still bears them thither ; 
And we, who on the parent stem 

A little while yet linger. 
Will soon be snatched away, like them. 

By Death's cold, icy finger. 

lyike streamlets from the mountain side, 

Which haste to join the river. 
One after one they onward glide, 

With none returning ever ; 
And we are moving downward too, 

Down to Death's river gliding ; 
Our days on earth at most are few — 

There's nothing here abiding. 



IMMORTALITY ; OR, ANSWER TO LIFE AND 
DEATH. 



The leaflets in autumn may wither and fade. 

The forest be naked and bare — 
The friends of our youth in the grave may be laid, 

And we may be laid with them there ; 
But the winter will pass, and the spring will return, 

And the forest again will be green, 
And the faithful who sleep in Death's moldering urn 

Will arise and in glory be seen. 

The stars in the sky to the west may decline, 

May be shrouded in darkness and gloom. 
Our friends and our loved ones may languish and pine, 

Or may die and be laid in the tomb; 
But again the stars in the east will arise, 

And bright and effulgent will shine. 
And the faithful in Christ will again realize 

A life that is truly divine. 



I'm standing by your grave, MARY. 209 

The roses in beauty, which bloom for awhile. 

May wither, may fade, and may die — 
Our friends and companions in labor and toil 

In graves all forgotten may lie ; 
But the season of roses again will return, 

And brighter than ever they'll bloom, 
And we, in the land of the blessed, shall discern 

Our friends when they come from the tomb. 

The stream from the mountain still downward may flow. 

And our friends, like its waters, be borne 
To the valley of death, and we in our woe 

The lost and the loved ones may mourn ; 
But God in His power that stream can renew 

From fountains by nature supplied — 
Can raise from their graves the faithful and true, 

To dwell with that Savior who died. 

The rose and the leaflet may wither and fade. 

The star and the streamlet may sink, 
Our friends and companions may sleep in Death's shade, 

And we of Grief's chalice may drink ; 
But let us not yield to despondence and dread — 

The day-star will cheer us again, 
And the lost and the loved ones who sleep with the dead 

Will arise and eternally reign. 



PM STANDING BY YOUR GRAVE, MARY. 



Written in the Church-yard. 

I'm standing by your grave, Mary, 

And 'tis a lonely place ; 
I look upon your lowly bed. 

But ne'er shall see your face — 
That dear familiar face. 

Three years and more have passed, Mary, 
Since here they laid you down; 

And life is now a wintry day. 
And dark is Fortune's frown ; 

How dark to me that frown ! 

—14— 



2IO RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

Adown the stream of Time, Mary, 

Alone I'm drifting now, 
An J Grief still writes its marks upon 

Your husband's saddened brow — 
My grief and care worn brow, 

I think upon my comforts dead — 
Those by-gone days of yore ; 

But with my Mary they have fled, 
And they'll return no more ; 

No more, no more, no more! 

Our son and daughter sleep, Mary, 
Hard by this marble stone ; 

Our tears together flowed for them, 
But now I weep alone ; 
Alone, alone, alone ! 

Alone, alone I seem to be. 

In this dark vale of woe; 
But though you may not come to me. 

Soon, soon to you I'll go; 
I'll go, I'll go, I'll go ! 

In faith and hope I'll rest, Mary, 

Whatever may betide, 
'Till death shall lay my body low. 

And place it by your side — 
To sleep here by your side. 

With faith and hope in God, I'll trust 
That when Death's reign is o'er. 

Then numbered with the good and just, 
We'll meet to part no more ; 

No more, no more, no more ! 



HOPE DEFERRED. 



Hope deferred maketh the heart sick : but when the desire cometh, it is 
a tree of life. — Prov. xiii. 12. 



The clause before the colon read 

I feel and know is true ; 
My heart is sick, my joys are dead. 

And hope is dying too. 



FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 

I hoped against e'en hope itself, 

But hope has been in vain ; 
Against despair I nerved myself. 

And scorned e'en to complain. 

Bowed down beneath the sick'ning weight 

Of hope so long deferred, 
I strove against my hapless fate 

Without a murmuring word. 

" Hope on, hope ever, still hope on," 

My motto once I made; 
But now my last fond hope is gone, 

On which my heart was stayed. 

That latter clause — oh, say ! shall I 

Its truth e'er realize ? 
And if I may not, then say why 

L/ive longer here in sighs ? 

What now is life when hope has fled ? 

A dreary, cheerless waste, 
With clouds of sorrow overspread, 

And by their storms defaced. 

Oh, that those storms might but subside. 
Those clouds of grief disperse ! 

And may I feel the truth implied 
In closing of that verse. 



FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY. 



To a Friend. 



Once I thought that hope was dead — 
'Twas when you saw me last — 

Then Faith gave way to doubt and dread ; 
But Charity stood fast. 

And still the hues of Hope will fade, 

And Faith is faltering oft ; 
But Charity comes to my aid, 

And bids me look aloft. 



212 RURAL RHYMERS AND OLDEN TIMKS. 

Hope faintly cheers us through life's vale, 

Faith points us to the end; 
But Charity will never fail 

To comfort and befriend. 

Both Faith and Hope must perish when 

We to the end have come ; 
But Charity will flourish then 

In an ever-blissful home. 

The charity which here we have 

Maj'^ somewhat selfish be ; 
But charity beyond the grave 

From selfishness is free. 

Blessed Charity upbraideth not— 
Is kind, and suffereth long — 

Ne'er envieth another's lot, 
Nor doeth another wrong. 

Then give me charity, I pray. 

Whatever else withheld ; 
So shall my tears be wiped away, 

And all my fears be quelled. 



TO AN ABSENT SON. 



Written in 1858 for an aged mother to a youthful son who had wandered 
away to the Land of Gold. That mother yet lives (1877), but the son, who 
returned in compliance with her prayer, fell amongst the thousands who 
fell in the great War of 1861.* 

My son, my son, my youngest one. 

The source of many a joy ! 
Though far away from me yo«u've gone, 

I'll not forget my boy. ^ 

Though you may roam away from home. 

Beneath another sky, 
Or ride upon the ocean's foam. 

Still, still for you I'll sigh. 



*See " The Soldier from the Kansas Line." 



£S^ 



TO AN ABSEINT SON. 213 

Though valleys green may intervene, 

And sandy deserts too — 
Though lofty mountains rise between, 

My thoughts revert to you. 

I have not yet, nor can forget 

When, with your presence blessed, 

I passed the time, ere you had set 
Your face to the far West. 

Nor yet can I forbear to sigh, 

When I your shadow see, 
To think that it is here so nigh, 

And you so far from me. 

The dismal day you went away 

Still haunts my memory too ; 
And in your letter last you say 

My warning words were true. 

Return, return, my son, return ! 

If not too great the task. 
Do not my poor petition spurn — 

The last I e'er may ask. 

My daily prayer and wishes are. 

Before I sink in death. 
That God my youngest son may spare 

To watch my parting breath. 

But years may pass, and I, alas ! 

May sink into the grave, 
Bre you can hurry home across 

The briny ocean wave. 

Once more I say, once more I pray 

That you will home return ; 
But if you must or will say nay, 

Still o'er my son I'll yearn. 

And if it be that I shall see 

Your face on earth no more, 
I trust that in eternity 

We'll meet and part no more. 



214 RURAI, RHYMES AND OLDKN TIMES. 

WILLIE'S GRAVE. 



Within that consecrated ground, 

The village church-yard, may be found 

A little tear-besprinkled mound, 

Where Willie sleeps in quietness. 

In Death's cold vesture now arrayed. 
Beneath that mound so lately made, 
A father's pride is lowly laid. 
And he is left in loneliness. 

A mother's earthly joys have fled — 
Her only son, her Willie's dead, 
And lies within that lonely bed, 
A floweret pale and withering. 

They see no more his cheering smile, 
■His presence will no more beguile 
Their labors through a world of toil, 
Of sorrow and of suffering. 

But, oh ! there is a vacant place 
Within that household, and a trace 
Of tears is on the mother's face. 

Who weeps almost despairingly. 

Grief sits a guest, with visage pale ; 
But tears and sighs will ne'er avail 
To bring the lost one from the vale 
Where he is resting silently. 

O Death ! how poignant is thy sting ! 
O Grave ! relentless, thou canst bring 
The stoutest hearts to sorrowing, 
And teach them all is vanity ! 

From out thy dark and silent urn 
Dear Willie will no more return ' 
And we, who here awhile sojourn, 
But haste to join him rapidly. 

Father and mother, mourn him not, 
Though lonely now may be your lot. 
And dark and gloomy is the spot 

Where he is sleeping dreamlessly. 



THE SONG OF THE SEA-SHELL- 215 

Your Willie lives beyond the grave, 
For He who died the lost to save 
Has borne him o'er the troubled wave, 
To dwell in bright eternity ! 



THE SONG OF THE SEA- SHELL. 



I came from the ocean, the deep briny ocean, 
From out of its caverns of mystery grand ; 

And when it was lashed into wildest commotion, 
I rode on its billows and fell on the sand. 

And there 'mongst my fellows, who fell there before me, 
Not long did I lie in the sunlight to rest ; 

A lady passed by, and she carefully bore me 
To grace a fair home in the far distant West. 

And now in that home, far, far from the ocean, 
From harp and piano flow music divine ; 

But the voice within me betrays my emotion — 
The roar of the sea is the music that's mine.* 

I pine for my home in the East whence she brought me ; 

I sigh for the depths of the ocean again ; 
And the song that I sing is the one which it taught me — 

The roar of the deep and the wide-spreading main. 

Mysterious links to the ocean have bound me ; 

Those links to the rolling salt waters will cling ; 
Whilst I, in the hearing of those who surround me. 

The song of the billows incessantly sing. 

The foam and the sea weed no longer enfold me ; 

To the deep coral groves I am longing to flee. 
As I sing, in the hands of the fair ones who hold me. 

The song that I learned in the depths of the sea. 

And when the wild winds and the dark waves are storm 3^ 
More sad is my song in the evening's gloom ; 

Oh ! when will the winds and the waves come for me, 
And carry me back to my old ocean home ? 

'■"Alluding to the roaring sound of the air in the conch-shell. 



2l6 RURAI, RHYMES AND 0I.DE;N TIMES. 

WHISKY, WHISKY— 'TIS A CURSE 



O whisky, whisky — 'tis a curse ! 
Both to the heahh and to the purse ; 
For nothing is or can be worse 
Than whisky. 

What makes yon man run giddy round? 
What throws him prostrate on the ground? 
'Tis tippling, tippling — I'll be bound — 
With whisky. 

And if he follows up the plan, 
He soon will be a ruined man ; 
O quit it, quit it while you can ; 
Quit whisky ! 

What makes that man which once I knew^ — 
Then sober, honest, just, and true — 
What scourges him life's journey through ? 
'Tis whisky ! 

He now has left his sober ways, 
And drinks, and drinks, for nights and days, 
And at the gambling table plays, 
For whisky. 

What makes him leave his family 
To visit shop and grocery, 
And fool his precious time away 
For whisky? 

Oh, what makes povert}^ prevail, 
The orphan weep, the widow wail? 
What fills the poor-house and the jail? 

'Tis whisky ! 

I/Ook at yon lawyer, if you choose ; 
What makes him still his practice lose ? 
Because he does himself abuse 
With whisky ! 

Yon preacher, too, please now behold. 
Who preaches righteousness so bold ; 
Alas ! he drinks — as I've been told — 
Of whisky. 



WHISKY, WHISKY — 'TIS A CURSE ! 217 

The love of God forsakes him now ; 
Shorn of his locks he is, I trow. 
As weak as other men who bow 
To whisky. 

He's like the meddling candle fly, 
Which plays around the danger nigh. 
He burns his wings and drops to die — 
Oh, whisky ! 

And yonder is a merchant, too. 
Who once was richer than a Jew ; 
But he has gone to drinking, too, 
Of whisky. 

His riches now are wasting fast. 
And will until his days are past ; 
For he will drink unto the last 
Of whisky. 

Young man, upon you now I call, 
And if you do not wish to fall 
Into a sin the worst of all. 
Shun whisky! 

And now I'm going to end my song — 
And if your fortitude is strong. 
Do not, I pray, your morals wrong 
With whisky ! 

And when I've wound my subject up. 
Do not so much as take a sup 
From out the vile, pernicious cup 
Of whisky. 

A thousand, thousand youths like 3^ou, 
As sober, and as honest, too, 
Have waded to their graves, all through 
Bad whisky ! 



2l8 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDKN TIMES. 

INTEMPERANCE. 



Throughout the whole country an evil we find, 

A blighting and withering curse ; 
It weakens the body, it injures the mind, 

And empties the heaviest purse. 

In the form of a liquid this evil is found, 
And it flows from the "worm" of the still; 

We see its effects where e'er we look round, 
And its victims, turn which way we will. 

For years has this streamlet continued to flow. 
From a fountain of sorrow and death ; 

And the longer we drink of this streamlet of woe 
The more sorrows abound in life's path. 

In every age, and in every state, 

Through Christendom's spreading domain, 

This stream leads us on, through a wide, open gate, 
To regions of sorrow and pain. 

'Tis used as a beverage by thousands of men. 

In each and in every state. 
Who drink of it now, and repent of it when, 

Alack and alas ! 'tis too late ! 

Then let me advise the young and the old 

To touch not, nor handle the stuff; 
Yes, touch not at all, for I will not be told 

You'll quit when you swallow enough. 

The longer you drink of the poisonous stream 
The sweeter the draught will appear; 

Till at length you awake, as if from a dream. 
To find that your ruin is near. 

And if you should then endeavor to break 
The fetters with which you are bound, 

You'll find that, like Samson, you only can shake 
Yourself as you lie on the ground. 

Oh, had I the courage and strength, I'd assail 

The drunkard of every age; 
And could I with language of truth but prevail 

I would war against drunkenness wage. 



INTEMPERANCE. » 219 

Or if the kind Muses would lend me their aid, 
The gauntlet at once should be hurled ; 

Nor would I give over until I had made 
An end of this scourge of the world. 

Just look at the multiplied thousands of men 

Who have fallen the monster before ! 
Ah, look at the tears of the orphan, and then 

At the monster still calling for more ! 

You hear the sad accent of that mournful wail 

Which causes the tear-drop to start; 
It comes on the breeze and is borne on the gale 

From many a lone widow's heart. 

I/et me point to the felon; immersed in the gloom 

Of a prison, shut out from the sun. 
All rayless and dark, not a hope can illumine 

The mind of that now guilty one. 

Then go back with him to the days of his youth. 

Ere drunkenness shed its sad blight. 
When he walked in the pathway of justice and truth, 

Nor dreamed of the fast-coming night. 

I have marked the course of the drunkard full well ; 

Have witnessed his rapid descent; 
And when at the shrine of dread Bacchus he fell, 

Have wept at the mournful event. 

I have looked on the evils of drink with concern ; 

Have viewed its effects with dismay ; 
And often have wondered that men do not spurn 

This greatest of evils away. 

When Sol in his glory has risen, and chased 

The darkness and vapors away. 
To the temple of Bacchus the drunkard will haste, 

His daily devotion to pay. 

The tavern, the grocery, the dram-shop, or still — 

To one or the other he goes. 
And drinks of the beverage of ruin until 

The spirit exuberant flows. 



220 RURAL RHYMKS AND OLDEN TIMES. 

As glass after glass of the liquid goes down, 

His spirits rise higher and higher ; 
He boasts of his prowess, and swaggers through town, 

And his tongue appears never to tire. 

But shortly a giddiness over him steals, 

And his balance he scarcely can keep. 
But backward and forward he staggers and reels. 

Or tumbles down, all in a heap. 

Ye temperate dram-drinkers, now look at the wretch ! 

I^earn wisdom at once and be wise ; 
See him struggle, and hiccup, and vomit, and stretch, 

And look at his watery eyes ! 

But low as he lies, 'twas not always the case ; 

He once was as temperate as you ; 
But his love of the "creature" is on the increase. 

And you see what it's bringing him to. 

You have known him, perhaps, in days that are past, 

When quite a respectable man ; 
But now, with the reckless inebriate classed, 

He is sinking as fast as he can. 

Yes, low he has sunk into shame and disgrace, 
And he feels the sharp pang of remorse. 

As he sees in the bottle the shadowy face 
Of Death on the pale-colored horse. 

Not long since the time when he was possessed 

Of a character noted for good ; 
And those who then knew him considered him blest, 

But they saw not the ground where he stood. 

They saw not the gulf that was yawning so wide. 
Nor the stream that was bearing him on ; 

They saw not the ebb nor the flow" of the tide. 
Nor the whirlpool to which he was drawn. 

They little imagined the danger that lurked 

Within the enlivening bowl ; 
Nor saw with what cunning the tempter had worked 

To ruin a high-minded soul. 



INTEMPERANCE. 221 

They saw not that habit was doubling her chain, 

So slyly as not to be seen ; 
Nor knew that his custom had latterly been 

With dram-drinking crowds to convene. 

But time passed along, and a change was perceived 

In his habits and business pursuits ; 
His friends were offended, his kindred were grieved, 

And he was involved in disputes. 

His wife and his children soon felt the sad change, 
And begged him with tears to refrain ; 

But though he will promise, it seems passing strange 
He cannot or will not abstain. 

His property, too, but a short time ago, 

Wa^ ample enough to secure 
A home and its comforts, with some to bestow 

Upon the unfortunate poor. 

But now it is wasting — indeed it is gone — 

For scarcely a pittance remains; 
His wife and his children are struggling on, 

And he is still hugging his chains. 

That beautiful homestead is not their home now — 

A stranger possesses those lands ; 
'Tis gone, and forever, and if you ask how, 

' Twas to pay the dram-seller' s demands. 

Misfortunes have crowded upon him apace ; 

Gome now reputation and friends — 
Respect for himself, contentment and peace, 

And all that on virtue attends. 

He once passed along, independent and bold. 

In garments both decent and clean ; 
But since by his appetite he is controlled, 

He's often ashamed to be seen. 

In vain may his wife use endeavors to keep 

His linen in decent repair; 
He's oft in the mud and the mire so deep, 

No wonder she yields to despair. 



222 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

The best and the kindest of husbands he's been; 

The kindest of fathers and friends ; 
But low he has fallen by one baleful sin, 

And lower and lower he tends. 

A still lower deep, as great Milton has said, 

Is waiting to swallow him up; 
Soon will he be numbered amongst the pale dead, 

A victim, alas ! to the cup. 

His family often await his return, 

And look for his coming with dread ; 
Experience has taught them too well to discern 

The storm ere it bursts overhead. 

And when he returns, if you could be there 
And see the abusive insults * 

Which he heaps upon them, you would surely forswear 
The bottle, and shun its results. 

His ravings and cursings, enough to induce 

A person to think him insane, 
Are but part of the fruits which drink will produce, 

And others still follow in train. 

His heart and his conduct appear to be changed, 
And changed the whole course of his life ; 

His better affections have all been estranged. 
And evil aflfections are rife. 

But when he at length to drowsiness gives way, 

And falls on a mattress to sleep, 
Oh! pity the wife and the children, for they 

O'er a husband and father now weep. 

They weep o'er the ruin that whisky has wrought. 

Look back on the past in despair^ 
They look to the future, but there they see naught 

To brighten the prospect so drear. 

When morning shines round him, he rises, though late. 

Half wakened to reason again; 
Accused by his conscience, he curses his fate, 

And his head is now aching with pain. 



INTEMPERANCE. 223 

A thirst on his vitals is preying, no doubt, 

A strange and unnatural thirst. 
Engendered by drinking, and all brought about 

By not taking heed at the first. 

His reason condemns him for what he has done ; 

Alas ! he feels humbled enough ; 
And half way resolves hereafter to shun 

The poisonous, detestable stuff. 

But, ah ! he has made the same promise before, 

A hundred of thousand times told ; 
And once, I believe, although I'm not sure, 

His name on the pledge was enrolled. 

He pledges his word but to break it again — 

A slave to the appetites now — 
His purpose so weak he cannot abstain. 

Though bound by the Nazarite's vow. 

But the cause of his failure lies mostly in this : 

He trusts in a strength of his own ; 
Like Samson, his locks have been shorn from his face. 

And his strength has departed and gone. 

Though shorn of his locks and deprived of his sight. 

Would he suffer himself to be led. 
And lean for support on omnipotent might. 

He could conquer through heavenly aid. 

"Tis heavenly aid alone that can save 
The wretch from the drunkard's hard fate ; 

'Tis that which can free the inebriate slave, 
And give hope to the now desolate. 

Like one that lies down in the midst of the sea. 

Or one on the top of a mast, 
Destruction yawns round him, no port can he see, 

And the storm-cloud is gathering fast. 

On the wide, stormy sea of intemperance he 

Is driven still further from shore ; 
And the storm seems to howl in his ear the decree 

That he near shall return any more. 



224 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

The comparison view, by King Solomon made — 

How forcible 'tis, and how true ! 
And in this our day it is worse, I'm afraid. 

Than it was in the days of the Jew. 

The many strong drinks invented since then 
Have deepened and widened the stream ; 

And spirits distilled are more poisonous to men 
Than fermented drinks, it would seem. 

lyike one on the top of a mast, sound asleep. 

While billows are rolling below. 
Unconscious, he nears the abyss, dark and deep, 

Where drunkards are destined to go. 

Though smitten and stricken, he feels not the pain 

That in kindness is given to heal ; 
He wakes not, or waking, he seeks yet again 

In sleep his sad face to conceal. 

Then leaving him thus in his perilous sleep, 

As he drifts on the ocean so wide. 
By his fate let us profit, and evermore keep 

Far away from the treacherous tide. 

Oh ! let us not look on the wine when 'tis red. 

When its color appears in the cup. 
When it moveth itself like a serpent of dread, 

For a fang will be found in each sup. 

Its beginnings are smooth and deceitful, I know, 

And promise us pleasure ahead ; 
But, oh ! let me tell you, the further you go 

The rougher the path you must tread. 

There's a way, and that way to man seemeth right, 

But Solomon says, and with truth, 
That its end is the way of death and dark night ; 

Then shun it, oh, shun it in youth ! 

Wine, wine is a mocker ! and what is strong drink ? 

'Tis raging and rages indeed ; 
And deceived ones are led to destruction's dark brink 

But he who is wise will take heed. 



INTEMPERANCE. 225 

If sinners entice thee, consent not, my son, 

For their feet haste to evil and death; 
Walk not in the pathway in which they may run, 

But thy footsteps restrain from their path. 

And now, in the end, let me say, once for all. 

There's an evil abroad in the land; 
And hundreds and thou sands do stumble and fall 

Who otherwise proudly might stand. 

Forbid it, O Heavenly Father, forbid 
That the streamlet shall ever increase ; 

But, oh! dry it up, and let us instead 
See a river of plenty and peace ! 




-15- 



Po^(T\5, D^SGriptiu(j a^d Hu/r|orou5. 



THE PROBLEM. 



A youth, when verging on nineteen — 
One that by all was counted green, 

An awkward, gawky lad — 
A lady's age once chanced to ask. 
For which she gave him such a task 

As youngster never had, 

"My age," said she, "I will not tell; 
But if you're skilled in numbers well, 

As I suppose you are, 
I'll give you data whence you may 
Obtain my age unto a day; 

And that, you'll own, is fair. 

"First let its cube be added to 

Six times my age, and then add you 

Four times its square to that; 
Then let the whole be multiplied 
By once my age, and then you add 

Four times my age to that. 

"Then, since you're nineteen years of age, 
Add eight times that, and I'll engage 

The whole amount will be 
Half a million, neither more nor less ; 
Now, if you tell my age, I guess 

You'll be the boy for me." * 

That green one studied night and day 
In Fowler, Smiley, Smith, and Ray, 

But no such question found; 
He strung out figures by the yard, 
But still the problem was so hard 

He couldn't square it round. ^ 



THE fisherman's EAWSUIT. 22/ 

But Still resolved to persevere, 
He worked for nearly half a year, 

And made the answer plain ; 
And when he'd solved the problem true 
(A problem which I give to you), 

She heard from him again. 

Said he: "My dear Miss W., 
You didn't know what I could do ; 

And now you're fairly caught; 
I am the boy for you, although 
From these here figures now I know 

You're older than I thought. 

"We both have been deceived for once; 
You thought that you had met a dunce, — 

One of the many Greens ; 
While I myself was wrong in this : 
I took you for a bashful miss, 

Not yet beyond the teens. 

"But I'm the boy for you, I guess; 
So hurry up your wedding dress. 

We'll make an even trade ; 
You've got the 'boot' in age, but I 
In height and weight ; so let us tie 

The bargain that you made." 



THE FISHERMAN'S LAWSUIT. 



'Mongst all the subjects of doubt and dispute. 
Did you ever hear tell of the fisher's lawsuit — 
Where John was the plaintiff, and Peter defended- 
And how it began and how it was ended ? 

To tell the tale, then, as 'twas told unto me : 
One Peter Boncure lived hard by the sea ; 
This Peter, 'tis said, was a fisher by trade, 
And by plying that calling his living he made. 



228 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES, 

The catching of fish was all his employ ; 
Nothing else did he ever molest or destroy ; 
He was honest and friendly, and kind to the poor — 
A very good name had this Peter Boncure. 

One day, as he walked along the sea-side. 

With hook and with line, and with bait well supplied, 

He heard, as he thought, a cry of distress. 

And quickening his steps, he ran to the place. 

And when he had searched the place all around, 
He saw a poor man, who, apparently drowned. 
Deep down in the water, lay still as a stone. 
Nor stirred hand or foot, nor uttered a groan. 

That the man to the surface again might arise, 
His hook and his line with a will Peter plies, 
And soon to the margin the body he drew ; 
When who should it be, but his neighbor John Blue. 

And while he was thinking how best to proceed 
With this, his poor friend, in a time of great need. 
He saw, to his sorrow, and to his surprise. 
That his hook had hooked out one of his eyes. 

However, persuaded that still he might live, 

He proceeded still further assistance to give; 

He bled him, and rubbed him, and rolled him about 

Till he saw him recov'ring beyond any doubt. 

To his cottage he took him, and put him to bed; 
And in less than a week, if the truth must be said — 
Kxcept in the loss of his eye and the wound — 
Friend John was as well as before he was drowned. 

But when he was able to walk out again, 

He felt the loss of his eye ver)^ plain, 1 

And, forgetting past favors, as many stMl do, J 

Talked loud of his loss, and of damages, too. .^ 

'Twas Peter's fish-hook that made him half blind, j 

And to sue him for damage he made up his mind ; 1 

Went straight to a lawyer, and sued a writ out, J 

Which Peter was summoned to answer about. I 



A fisherman's lawsuit. 229 

Poor Peter felt vexed, as any one would, 
But defended the matter as well as he could; 
Said the damage was done, but without his intent — 
In fact and in truth, 'twas a pure accident. 

His conscience felt easy, he said, on that score ; 

111 fortune alone was to blame, he felt sure; 

And that John should be willing, when death was so nigh. 

To purchase his life with the loss of an eye. 

He admitted John's loss was great and severe, 
But said he would always assert without fear 
That a man who can show but one eye in his head 
Is better, much better, than one that is dead. 

In answer to this, the defendant's fine speech, 
John said no authority within all his reach, 
No law nor no custom on earth could be found 
To put a man's eye out because he was drowned. 

No emperor, king, or a senator sage. 

No people or nation, in any dark age. 

Had ever permitted, by force or surprise. 

One neighbor to put out the next neighbor's ej^es. 

The damage to him was so very severe 

As to equal at least a hundred a year ; 

'Twas that he demanded, and Pete should comply, 

Or else give him back his identical eye. 

The arguments brought the judge into a strait — 
'Twas hard to decide which had the most weight; 
The lawyers all, too, appeared at a stand 
Which way to decide on the matter in hand, 
Till a half-witted boy, who was present by chance, 
Asked leave of the court his thoughts to advance. 
And said: '"Tis as plain as the nose on your face, 
And I never would want a less difficult case. 

"The case may be novel, although it is plain; 
Be guided by me and you'll ne'er doubt again : 
The plea of the plaintiff rests on this one fact, 
That Peter proceeded with so little tact, 
And handled his hook in so awkward a way 
As to ruin John's looks, for which he claims pay. 



230 RURAI, RHYMES AND OI.DKN TIMKS. 

"And now, please your honor, just listen to me: 

Let the plaintiff once more be sunk in the sea, 

And when he has lain there as long as before. 

Then give him permission to come to the shore ; 

And if he succeeds, and gets out alone, 

Safe, sound, and undamaged, why, then be it known 

That Peter must pay all the damages claimed, 

However so little by others he's blamed ; 

But if, after struggling and flouncing about, 

John drowns in the water and never gets out, 

Why, then it is justice, as all will admit. 

That the court should at once the defendant acquit." 

The judge thanked the boy for his logical view, 
And was charging the jury in accordance to do, 
When the plaintiff in action cut short the dispute 
By saying: "Please, your honor, I withdraw the suit/' 



DORR MORRISON'S RIDE; OR, JOHN GILPIN 
THE SECOND. 



Tom Thompson was a soldier bold, 

As bold as bold can be, 
And in the famous Kansas wars, 

A captain then was he. 

He marched across Missouri's line, 

To Kansas with his men. 
But when he found old Sumner there, 

He marched them back again. 

Through fair Paola they returned, \ 

With armor shining bright, , \ 

And when a little space beyond, l 

They halted for the night. | 

And there they fought their battles o'er, ij 

Their merit to enhance, '\ 

And boasted what they would have done, | 

If they had had a chance. % 



DORR MORRISON'S RIDE. 23 1 

Now Thompson's men were heroes all, 

The bravest in the land; 
To hear them talk, you would have thought 

No foe could them withstand. 

But there was one surpassing brave — 

The world scarce ever saw 
A braver than Dorr Morrison, 

The captain's son-in-law. 

He louder talked, and boasted more 

Than any one beside — 
Could he but meet the Yankees, sure, 

The Yankee woe betide. 

'Twas thus the hours passed away ; 

Kach felt heroic flame — 
And sank to sleep, perhaps to dream 

Of military fame. 

Next morn the captain called the roll 

As soon as it was day, 
And said : "I'll tell you what, my boys, 

We'd better get away. 

"For Reid has burned that Yankee town. 

That Osso-what's-its-name,* 
A few miles down the country here — 

You saw the smoke and flame. 

"And nOw the Yankee tribe will come 

And be avenged on us, 
Unless we get away from them, 

And so escape the muss." 

Then spoke Dorr Morrison, the brave : 

"Just let the Yankees come ! 
We'll give 'em hail Columbia, sure. 

And send 'em back to hum ! 

"Just let 'em come, the coward slaves, 

From Abolition's den ; 
. We'll whip 'em, though they're ten to one 

'Gainst our pro-slavery men!" 



'•'Osawatomie. 



232 RURAI, RHYMKS AND OLDEN TIMES. 

But Thompson couldn't see it so ; 

Said he, "The better plan 
Is not to stay and risk a fight, 

But march while march we can." 

The baggage train, consisting of 

A wagon drawn by mules, 
Was hurried ofif in their advance. 

For that was marching rules. 

And hastily their horses now 
Are caught and saddled all, 

And they await the word to mount 
And into column fall. 

Their faces all are homeward turned. 

And, willingly or not. 
They mount their horses at the word, 

And set off on a trot. 

But there was Harry Whack McCrack, 

And Hink I. Donowho, 
Who lagged behind, and in the fog 

Were hidden from the vievv^. 

And then these two mischievous boys, 

To have a little fun, 
Resolved to give their friends a scare 

And see if they could run. 

So Harry primed his arms afresh, 

And Hinkley followed suit ; 
They fired their guns and pistols off. 

As fast as they could shoot. 

They couldn't see from out the fog 

The effect on those before; 
But the clattering of their horses' feet 

Was like the thunder's roar. 

Upon the morning's balmj^ air 
The thundering echoes broke ; 

While Hinkley screamed and called aloud ; 
"Stop! stop! 'tis all a. Joke." 



DORR MORRISON S RIDE. 233 

They heard him not, they heeded not, 

But hurried on apace, 
While Hink and Harry hurried too, 

lyike men who rode a race. 

'Twas "helter-skelter," man and horse, 

O'er hill and over plain, 
As fast, and faster moving still 

They whipped and spurred amain. 

They soon o'ertook the baggage-train — 

The driver whipping too. 
For he had heard the din behind. 

And knew not what to do. 

"Save, save yourself!" Dorr Morris cried. 

For he was now before ; 
"A thousand Yankees just behind! 

A thousand, if no more." 

The driver took him at his word; 

He cut the hame-string square. 
And mounting on the nearest mule, 

He left the other there. 

Thus on they rode to Dashman's farm. 

Where dwelt a widowed squaw. 
For they were on the Indian lands. 

The lands of the Wea.^ 

But some were falling now behind — 

Their horses were in fault; 
So Thompson raised his voice aloud 

And called his men to halt. 

Said he, "We'll stop and fortify; 

And if they come — why then 
We'll fight and do the best we can; 

We'll fight, my boys, like men. 

"See here, this smoke-house, good and strong; 

Of that we'll make a fort. 
And if the Yankees should attack, 

We'll give a good report." 



234 RURAL RHYMES AND OIvDEN TIMES. 

Into the meat-house then they crowd — 

'Twas full from roof to floor 
Of living flesh — not salted down ; 

But in a pickle, sure. 

For when the doors were closed and barred, 

And fastened round about, 
They found themselves within the fort, 

And all their guns without.* 

But where are Hink and Harry now? 

They're bringing up the rear ; 
Slow following upon the track. 

And soon they will be there. 

At first they rode with all their speed. 

Their horses on the strain, 
To overtake the flying host — 

But, ah, 'twas all in vain ! 

Yet still they kept pursuing on, 

And followed the retreat. 
But every moment fainter grew 

The sound of horses' feet. 

*' Where will they stop?" said Hink, at last; 

"D'ye think they ever will?" 
"I think, perhaps," said Whack McCrack, 

"They'll stop at Pleasant Hill. 

" For they are now like Gilpin's horse — 
They'll run till they reach town." 

Said Hink, "Perhaps, like Yankee clocks. 
They'll stop when they've run down." 

Thus riding on, they came at length 

To where the baggage-train 
Had been abandoned on the road. 

And then they drew the rein. 

Said Harry, "Here is trouble, now; 

I fear we've played the fool — 
We've got Van Higgin's wagon here, 

And Duncomb's favorite mule. 



'■'That part some of them deny. 



DORR MORRISON'S RIDE. 235 

"And though they're on the road toward home, 

They're on it like to stay— 
And though they hold their tongues, they speak, 

And plainly seem to say, 

"That we must cover the retreat, 

And take the baggage through ; 
Or else, perhaps, we'll have to pay 

For mule and wagon too." 

Dismounting then, they harnessed up 

Hink's horse behind the mule, 
And traveled leisurely along, 

To let their horses cool. 

And now the fog had cleared away — 

And when they came in view, 
The men within the smoke-house saw 

And recognized the two. 

" 'Tis Hink and Harry, safe and sound — 

The baggage-wagon, too ! 
Why, boys, we thought you both were killed ; 

Come, tell us how you do." 

But when the boys began to laugh, 

And said 'twas all a Joke, 
Oh, what a mighty storm of wrath 

Forth from the captain broke ! 

He made for Harry with his gun, 

And vowed, in angry strain, 
That he who laughed at such a joke 

Should never laugh again. 

But soon, this hurly-burly o'er, 

They took a calm survey, 
And counted up the loss and gain 

Of that eventful day. 

Of killed and wounded on the field 

They found that there were none, 
And of the missing it appeared 

That there was only one. 



236 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

The brave Dorr Morris answered not — 

The reason why was clear : 
When Thompson gave the word to halt, 

Dorr Morris failed to hear. 

But on, and onward still he rode, 

With unabated speed ; 
And still he plied the whip and spurs 

Upon his panting steed. 

He rode as for a mighty stake — 

The issue life or death — 
Until he crossed Missouri's line, 

And then he stopped for breath. 

He paused, and looked behind to see 

Who followed in his rear ; 
Well pleased he was to find that all 

The coast around was clear. 

Not long he tarried there to breathe ; 

He bounded forward still — 
For though 'twas thirty miles away, 

His goal was Pleasant Hill. 

At every farmer's house he passed. 
He raised his voice and said : 

"The Yankee's come! the Yankee's come! 
And half our men are dead ! 

"And all the rest surrounded are, 

Back at the Dashman farm; 
And I alone escaped to give 

And spread the dread alarm ! 

"Call every brave pro-slavery man. 

And go to their rescue; 
I'm riding now with an express, 

Or I'd go back with you. 

"Arise, ye brave Missourians! 

The war has just begun ; 
And when the call for soldiers comes, 

Then count me in for one ! " 



DORR MORRISON'S RIDK. 237 

Through Morristown and Harrisville 

The flying hero rode — 
The trump of war had sounded sure, 

And loud that trump he blowed. 

And every time he told the tale 

More wild and strange it grew; 
So wild and strange that some, at least, 

Could scarce believe it true. 

But Morris had an evidence — 

A fight there sure had been — 
He showed the hat upon his head, 

A bullet-hole therein. 

But still they wondered how it came 

That leaden ball had sped 
Right through the middle of his hat 

And yet had missed his head ! 

Perhaps his hair had raised the hat 

So high from off his pate 
That there was left a passage for 

That messenger of fate. 

Dorr Morris had no time to waste ; 

He hurried onward still, 
And long before the noon of day. 

He got to Pleasant Hill. 

Meanwhile the fearful tidings flew. 

And spread from side to side. 
And men and boys were hurrying 

To check the coming tide. 

They hurried toward the Indian I^and, 

In squads of two or more. 
And such a reinforcing time 

We never saw before. 

Tom Thompson and his heroes brave. 

Upon their journey home, 
Met reinforcements every mile, 

And still, and still they come ! 



238 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

But Morrison had rode so far, 

And rode so fast to town, 
His horse, at least, if not himself. 

Was run completely down. 

So, like a Yankee clock, he stopped 
And would no longer run; 

And I, like him, will stop, for now 
My yarn I've fully spun. 




/^GrostiGS apd Otl^er 5f?ort poe/T)s. 



DOUBLE ACROSTIC. 



Written ft>r a Youngr Friend. In which the name is found by reading 
the first letters, either from top or bottom to the centre. 

Just what I am, or what I'll be, 

Appears a mystery to me — 
My mind so often changes ; 

Even while I plan for future weal, 
Some turn of fickle Fortune's wheel 

My plan of life deranges ; 
Sometimes I feel myself a blank, 

The semblance of some broken plank, 
Upon an ocean driven; 

lyike vessel tossed and floating on, 
Till driven finally upon 

Sahara's desert even. 

Sahara's burning sands the while 

To fairy lands will change, and smile 
L/ike fields of fair Elysian, 

Until, like Selkirk, I can say. 
The monarch of a grand survey, 

So fair to Fancy's vision; 
Monarch like, I think my name 

Shall stand upon the scroll of fame. 
Enrolled in letters gleaming — 

May stand, perhaps, almost as high 
As Washington's — Oh, Jemmy, fie! 

Just wake, for 5^ou are dreaming. 



240 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDKN TIMES. 

ACROSTIC. 



Written lor Mary Burton. 

My thoughts are soaring as a dove 

Away to worlds on-high; 
Rising, they mount and soar above 

Yon azure vaulted sky. 

But though my thoughts, on Fancy's wings. 
Up to the highCvSt star ascends. 

Reality as often brings 

Those thoughts to earth and earthly things ; 

Or warm alfection fondly clings 

Near to my earthly home and friends. 



ACROSTIC. 



- To Mary E. J. Burton. 

May I govern ray passions and keep them subdued. 
And never be vicious, intemperate, or rude ; 
Resolving, whatever on earth may betide. 
Youth or age shall not tempt me from justice aside. 

Encompassed by snares in the journey of life, 
Just grant me, kind Providence, freedom from strife ; 
By the rivers of peace may 1 journey along. 
United to friends and beguiled by their song ; 
Renouncing the world, with its fashions and pride, 
To the home of the blessed may I cross o'er the tide- 
O'er the Jordan of Death may I peacefully go — 
No fears to disturb, though the banks overflow. 





DAYID HUNTER. 
See pages 113 and 381. 



ACROSTIC. 241 

ACROSTIC. 



Written as an Autograph in the Album of Mollie Johnson. 

Misfortunes dark may gather round 

Our fragile bark, now homeward bound — 

Let not their winds detain us ; 
lyife's stormy sea will soon be past — 
In earthly ports, when anchored fast, 

Earth's conflicts will not pain us. 

Jerusalem, thy mansions bright — 
Our home above in realms of light — 

Home of the blessed forever ; 
Not all the storms that darken day 
Should cause our footsteps to delay, 
Or turn our feet from out the way ; 

No, never, never, never ! 



ACROSTIC. 



Written in the Album of Miss J. Franklin. 

Just think, when e'er these lines you see, 
Upon what great uncertainty 

Depends our comfort here ; 
In all of life's vicissitudes, 
Through crowded streets and solitudes. 
How great are our disquietudes — 

Forever filled with fear. 
Renounce the world and worldly bliss, 
And seek a higher sphere than this. 

Nor seek beneath the sky ; 
Know that beyond this vale of tears, 
lyit up by joy, a home appears, 
In which the good, through endless years, 

No longer fear to die. 

—16— 



242 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

A CR OSTIC—D O UBLE. 



Many a tide may ebb and flow, 

All my friends may me forsake ; 
Rolling waves may come and go, 

Tempest-tossed my vessel break ; 
If the captain by me stand, 

Naught I'll fear, naught I'll fear ; 
Resting on his promise sure, 
I, amid the tempest's roar, 
Calmly view the distant shore — 

Ever clear, ever clear. 
Evening shades around may close, 

Cold and dark the night come on — 
I shall calmly then repose. 

Resting till the day shall dawn ; 
Numbered with my buried friends, 

I shall rest, sweetly rest, 
Till the night of death is o'er; 
Rising then aloft I'll soar. 
And find a home on yonder shore, 

'Mongst the blest, 'mongst the blest. 



PAROD Y ON A WELL-KNO WN HYMN, 



Could I but see my pathway clear 

From out this land of sighs, 
I fain would quit this sorrowing sphere, 

And seek a heavenly prize. 

Though sinful men their wa^s may wage. 
With banners wide unfurled, 

I'll smile at their impotent rage. 
And seek a better world. 

Should Death in all his terrors come, 

It would not me appall ; 
'Twould take me to a better home, 

Where God is all in all. 



THE MOON. 243 

There shall my weary, way-worn soul 

Bask in eternal rest, 
And waves of sorrow no more roll 

Across an aching breast. 



THE MOON. 



Written for a Prize at a School Examination. 

To write, when I consented to, 
I had no subject in my view. 

On which to try my hand ; 
And for a subject, when I sought, 
I found myself in trouble caught. 
For not an idea or a thought 

Would come at my command. 

Imagination's pleasures wild, 

Then Nature's works, my thoughts beguiled, 

And Education, too ; 
Knowledge and Truth, with aspect bold. 
And Eloquence, their claims unrolled; 
But all of these were worn and old; 

I wanted something new. 

While pondering these things at night. 
And sitting in the pale moonlight, 

I felt my bosom thrill ; 
I saw the moon in splendor ride 
Through fleecy clouds in stately pride, 
And thought that nothing else beside 

Would suit me half so well. 

The Moon my subject, then, will be — 
The Moon, which, over earth and sea. 

Has ever ruled the night ; 
The Moon, which regulates the tides. 
And into months the year divides ; 
Which, ever changing, still abides, 

Fixed in its orbit bright. 



244 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

Since first creation's work was done, 
It has the self-same journey run, 

And shown the self-same face ; 
It shines on us as first it shone 
On Adam, when he stood alone, 
Bre he had sinned, or death was known, 

To mar his happiness. 

Its pale, its mild, its pitying face 
Has looked on all of Adam's race 

For near six thousand years ; 
Far in the Bast, beyond the wave. 
It shone on Abel's new-made grave. 
And looked from out the blue concave, 

Just as it now appears. 

And when the waters overflowed 
The ancient world, and Noah rode 

Upon a deluge wild, 
The Moon, still in its monthly race, 
Looked down upon that watery waste, 
And saw reflected there the face 

Which so serenely smiled. 

On Sodom and Gomorrah, too. 
It shone, as it is wont to do, 

With mild and placid face ; 
But when its monthly round was run, 
And on the plain again it shone. 
Those crowded cities both were gone, 

And a sea was in their place. 

Three thousand years have passed away, 
But still, until the present day. 

The Moon yet shines as bright 
Upon the dark and sluggish sea 
As when the land was proud and free. 
And will till earth has ceased to be. 

And Time shall take its flight. 

It shines upon the pyramid. 
As thousand years ago it did. 
With pale and silv'ry light ; 



THE MOON. 245 

It looked upon those structures then, 
And saw them builded by the men 
Whose names for centuries have been 
Lost and forgotten quite. 

It shone on Thebes and Memphis too, 
Before to wealth those cities grew ; 

It saw them rise and fall ; 
And now it shines on arid plains, 
Where naught of wealth or pride remains, 
But desolation ever reigns, 

Amid those ruins all. 

It shone on Babylon the fair, 
Upon the hanging garden there 

Beside the willow-trees ; 
It shone on Nineveh the great. 
When Jonah preached the awful fate, 
The coming doom, which did await 

On its iniquities. 

But Ruin's hand has passed them o'er ; 
Long since they sank to rise no more — 

Their sights we scarce can know ; 
But yet the Moon has ne'er forgot 
To shine upon each lonely spot, 
To desolation rudely brought, 

As prophets did foreshow. 

Long did the Grecian temples gleam, 
Touched by the pale, unwarming beam 

Which did their spires illume ; 
It shone upon the Roman world. 
Their conquering banners then unfurled. 
And paled when Nero's torch was hurled. 

The city to consume. 

While rolling ages passed away. 
The Moon shone on America, 

Unknown to all the East ; 
It shone upon those goodly lands 
From eastern shore to western strands. 
Upon the roving Indian bands. 

And on the savage beast. 



246 RURAIv RHYMKS AND OI.DKN TIMES. 

And when the hardy Genoese 
Adventured over unknown seas, 

In quest of India's shore, 
The Moon then shone, in silver pale, 
Upon the vessel's wide-spread sail. 
And saw it wafted by the gale 

The wide Atlantic o'er. 

It shone upon that little flock 

Of pilgrims, who, on Plymouth Rock, 

Debarked from oflf the waves ; 
Three hundred years and more have fled ; 
Those pilgrims now are with the dead, 
But still the Moon her light will shed 

Upon their unknown graves. 

lyike to the cloud Elijah saw. 
That little flock did larger grow. 

And larger still increased, 
Till now it spreads from shore to shore, 
And numbers millions o'er and o'er; 
And still the Moon shines, as of yore, 

On all, from West to Hast. 

When Washington did nobly dare 
To cross the raging Delaware, 

The Moon was shining then; 
It shone upon the hero's brow, 
It shone on Trenton then as now, 
And saw the British lion bow 

To freedom-loving men. 

Once, only once, since time began. 
That orb has barkened unto man. 

To stay its daily race; 
When Joshua, the son of Nun, 
Commanded, both the Moon and Sun 
Stood still, until his work was done, 

Nor hastened to their place. 

One consolation here I know : 
When I am called by death to go, 
And leave a world of care, 



THE orphan's lot. 247 

Though friends may shun the spot where I 
Am doomed in the cold ground to lie, 
The Moon majestic from on high 
Will shine in pity there. 



THE ORPHAN'S LOT. 



Recited at a School Exhibition, February, 1872. 

Permit me, friends and teacher kind, 
To-night to speak my woes: 

The sorrows of an orphan's mind 
No favored mortal knows. 

I had a father once, who died — 

I well remember how;* 
An orphan, drifting on life's tide, 

I have no father now. 

He fell amongst the thousands who 
In the great war were slain ; 

And we who loved a father true 
Will see him ne'er again. 

He sleeps within an humble grave. 
Where roses sometimes bloom. 

Those flowers cheer me as they wave, 
But leave my heart in gloom. 

He left me to a mother's care, 

A mother kind and true ; 
We were the objects of her prayer. 

Her toils and watchings, too. 

She led me on the thorny road. 

The thorny road of life ; 
She told me of a bright abode 

Beyond this vale of strife. 



'^See "The Exodus of '63 ; or, Order No. 11.' 



24S RURAI, RHYMES AND OI.DEN TIMES. 

And she has reached that bright abode 

Beyond the shores of time ; 
And we, upon life's'rugged road, 

Press on toward that cHme. 

Her hand no longer points the way, 
No longer smooths my brow ; 

Sad orphan 'mongst my schoolmates gay, 
I have no mother now. 

I'm fatherless, I'm motherless ; 

No parent's guiding hand 
To lead me through life's wilderness. 

Where dangers thickly stand. ■ 

But brother John and I, alas ! 

With sister Rosalie, 
Sad orphans through the word must pass, 

For orphans sad are we. 

Ye who by fortune have been blessed, 
Upbraid and blame me not; 

You little know what woes are pressed 
On the poor orphan's lot. 

You have not been compelled, as I, 
To give your dearest treasures up; 

You ne'er have seen your mother die, 
Nor drank the orphan's bitter cup. 

But I must not with envy look 
On those more favored far than I ; 

'Twas God who gave, 'twas He who took. 
And to His will I bow, or try. 

May you, my schoolmates, never know 
The griefs and sorrows I have known, 

Ne'er be bereft of friends below 
And left as orphans, sad and lone. 



THE child's dream. 249 

THE CHILD'S DREAM. 



Oh, why did you wake me up, mamma? 

I would have slept all day, 
For I had a pleasant dream, mamma. 

Of our home so far away. 

I thought that we were there again. 

My brother John and me. 
And we wandered up and down the lane, 

And plaj^ed b}^ the cherry-tree. 

And there was little George, mamma, 
With the hat he used to wear ; 

And I saw his little brother too, 
And Jake and I^izzie there. 

We climbed the orchard fence, mamma, 
And ranged the orchard through ; 

And picked the large red apples up, 
Just like we used to do. 

And then we went to grandma's house — 
The big white house, you know ; 

And my grandma took me in her arms. 
And would not let me go. 

And then I thought my grandma cried. 

And called me orphan child; 
But then I kissed my grandma till 

She wiped her eyes and smiled. 

And then we went back home, mamma, 
To that small house of ours ; 

And went into the garden there, 
Amongst the pretty flowers. 

And who do yoM think I saw, mamma? 

It was my own dear pa; 
And I felt so happy then, although 

'Twas but a dream I saw. 



250 RURAI, RHYMES AND OI.DKN TIMES. 

For I know that he is dead, mamma — 

For him you weep and grieve; 
For he was killed, you know, mamma, 
^ The day we had to leave.* 

But I thought that he was there, mamma, 
And he took me on his knee. 

And kissed us as he used to do, 
My little sis and me. 

And I thought he sang to us, mamma, 

The song he used to sing; 
And then I went with you and him 

Down to the willow spring. 

But you have waked me up, mamma, 

And we are far away; 
Oh, shall we not go back again 

To that dear home some day? 



THE EXILE'S LAMENT. 



Written in the latter part of 1863, and published in the IvCxington Union. 

Alone I've returned to the home whence expelled 

By "Order Kleven," from Kansas; 
And here, in this home, by my feelings impelled, 

I sigh as I'm penning these stanzas. 

In the home which I builded I sit alone quite, 
Or walk through its rooms in sad silence; 

And I think of the time when my skies were all bright, 
Kre the land had been covered with violence. 

I look on my hearth-stone, so cheerless and cold, 

And my eyes as I look become tearful. 
As I think of the past, and the happy household 

Who once met around it, so cheerful. 

*See poem " Order No. 11." 



THE EXILES I.AMENT. - 251 

In vain I may look for that household to-day, 

In vain search the orchard or wildwood; 
My motherless children are now far away 

From the scenes of their earliest childhood. 

I look on the landscape, so changed and defaced. 

And the farms, all to ruin fast hasting; 
The fruits of my labors, abandoned in haste, 

I find are now wasted or wasting. 

I look through my windows on farms lying waste, 
The homes of my once happy neighbors, 

Whose houses and orchards are torn and defaced, 
And spoiled are the fruits of their labors. 

But some of those neighbors I'll see here no more — 

I laid them in beds dark and gory* — 
But when I have quitted this blood-crimsoned shore, 

I hope I shall meet them in glory. 

Hard, hard is the fate of an exile from home. 

And hard is our lot among strangers ; 
Wherever we wander, wherever we roam. 

We're looked on as Quantrell's bush-rangers. 

What though we have suffered at bushwhackers' hands, 

Or bled in the cause of the Union, 
Because from the haunt of those bushwhackers' bands, 

We're counted as if in communion. 

But I must away now, and leave here with pain — 

This wreck of my earthly Elysian ; 
And when I have left it, perhaps ne'er again 

Will this home greet my organs of vision. 

-See poem "Order No. 11." 



252 RURAI^ RHYMES AND OIvDEN TIMES. 

YOU'VE SUNG OF GREENLAND'S 
MOUNTAINS. 



Written in June, 1861. 

You've sung of Greenland's mountains, 

You've sung it many a time; 
Of Afric's sunnj^ fountains, 

And India's sultry clime; 
And of tlie night of error 

That reigns o'er heathen lands, 
And called on many a hearer 

To lend them helping hands. 

You've sung the lavish kindness 

Of heaven, bestowed in vain 
Where superstitious blindness 

Supreme appeared to reign ; 
And thought that men enlightened, 

In favored lands like this. 
Should send to men benighted 

The lamp of gospel peace. 

Alas ! alas ! what better 

Is our condition now? 
We're bound as with a fetter, 

And to an idol bow; 
That lamp of Christian kindness, 

Which we would send afar. 
Has, by our foolish blindness. 

Been quenched in civil war. 

Now we, instead of bowing 

To wood and stone as they, 
To bloody Mars are vowing. 

And vows to him we pay ; 
O that some Christian herald 

Would come to us from far, 
And save a land imperilled 

By this intestine war ! 



you've sung op GR:E;KNIyAND'S MOUNTAINS. 253 

No Juggernaut more bloody, 

Nor worship more absurd, 
Than that whose votaries study 

To conquer by the sword — 
A brother's hand imbruing 

Deep in a brother's blood; 
Not worse are heathens doing 

Beyond the ocean's flood. 

Waft not, ye winds, the story. 

Nor bear the news abroad 
To nations aged and hoary, 

That we've forsaken God — 
That this, our favored nation, 

A land of Christians called, 
Can rush on desolation. 

And meet it unappalled. 

O that the lyord in kindness 

Would visit us again, 
Would heal a nation's blindness. 

And o'er the nations reign ; 
That, war and tumult ceasing, 

The North and South might meet, 
With peace and love increasing, 

And bow at Jesus' feet ! 



Po(j(T\5' D^8(;riptiu(^ apd Scriptural 



ABRAHAMS LAMENT. 



And Abraham came to mourn for Sarah, and to weep for \\&t: .—Genesis 

My fair princess is no more ! 

Tranquilly she sleeps in death, 
And her loss I now deplore, 

While amongst the sons of Heth, 
Far from all my kindred friends, 
I sojourn. 
In and through a stranger's land 
We have wandered hand in hand, 
But by her lifeless form I stand 
Now to mourn. 

Wanderer from the land of Ur, 
Far beyond Euphrates' flood, 
I am but a pilgrim here, 

With no permanent abode — 

The graves of all my kindred race 
Far away. 
Where shall Sarah's dust repose? 
Where shall mine, when at the close 
I seek relief from all life's woes 
In the clay? 

God forbid that I should lay 

Sarah in a stranger's tomb ! 
At my death that stranger may 
Refuse to give my body room ; 
But to buy a resting-place 
I propose. 



Abraham's lament. 255 

for a cave or sepulcher ! 
Where I can lay my princess dear, 
And know that I shall rest with her 

At life's close. 

It was at Jehovah's call, 

That we left our native land ; 
He who sees and governs all — 
He it was who gave command, 
Promising to give to us. 

And our seed, 
The land which he would bring us to; 
And, as God is ever true, 

1 have faith that he will do 

As he said. 

Though the days may tarry long, 

Though my sons may be oppressed. 
Though the chain of bondage strong 
On their aching limbs be pressed, 
Yet the time will surely come 
(For I learn 
Three generations must decay. 
Four hundred years must pass away) 
When God will visit them, and they 
Will return ; 

Return unto this goodly land. 
The land o'er which I roam. 
And all the region I have scanned 
Shall be their future home ; 

Numerous as the stars of heaven 
They shall be ; 
Throughout the land, from east to west, 
The sons of Abraham shall rest, 
And all the nations shall be blessed 
Then in me. 



256 RURAL RHYMKS AND OLDEN TIMES. 

JOSEPH AND HIS BRETHREN. 



PART I. 



'Twas long ago, in Egypt's land — 
Of travelers there came a band, 

Ten brothers all they were; 
Before the ruler of the land 
Those travelers approach and stand. 

And make obeisance there. 

The ruler knew those brothers then, 
For he was brother to the ten, 

Although they knew him not ; 
For they had sold him long ago. 
When he was but a youth, and, lo ! 

He was to Egypt brought. 

They thought that he was yet a slave, 
Or else that he was in the grave, 

Or drowned within the sea ; 
He made himself to them, so strange. 
Besides so great had been the change, 

They little thought 'twas he. 

"From what far country have ye sped, 
And wherefore have ye come?" he said, 

"I fain would understand; 
Ye look as if ye might be spies — 
Perhaps ye come to realize 

How naked is the land?" 

"We came from Canaan's land," they said, 
"And we have come to purcljase bread. 

Our families to feed ; 
True men, we all thy servants are — 
The sons of one man living there ; 

We are no spies, indeed." 

"Nay, nay," the ruler then replied ; 
" Your answers prove that ye have lied. 
For ye are surely 'spies; 



JOSEPH AND HIS BRETHREN. 257 

I know ye are a Syrian band, 
And ye have come to spy the land, 
And come in this disguise." 

" Indeed, my lord, we spake the truth ; 
We've dwelt in Canaan from our youth. 

And hard has been our lot. 
Twelve sons our aged father had — 
The youngest now a little lad, 

And one of them is not." 

" If that be so, j^e'll make it clear 
By bringing that young brother here. 

Your company to grace ; 
For, by the life of Pharaoh, king. 
Ye shall not buy of me a thing 

Until I see his face. 

" In prison ye shall here remain 
Until ye send back home again 

And bring your brother hence ; 
For, by the life of Pharaoh, ye 
Are spies, and buying bread of me 

Is nothing but pretense." 

He placed them in the prison then, 
And there he kept those brothers ten 

Three days and nights^^in pain ; 
And then he said, " Do this and live — 
Your lives to you I freely give 

Upon conditions plain : 

"Let one in prison here remain, 
The nine may then return again 

With food for your supplies ; 
But w^hen my face again ye seek, 
Bring down the lad of whom ye speak. 

Or surely ye are spies. 

"And if the lad ye bring with you, 
I then will know that ye are true, 
And that ye spake the truth ; 

— 17- 



258 RURAI, RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES- 

But Simeon shall wear the chain 
Of bondage till ye come again 

And bring with you the youth." 

PART II. 

In the land of the Canaanite Jacob now dwelt, 

And worshiped on altars his fathers had built ; 

For thirty long years in that land he'd sojourned 

Since he from the land of the East had returned ; 

A man of affliction, and sorrowing now, 

Careworn were his features and saddened his brow. 

Twelve sons and a daughter in time he had had, 

And all were now gone but the youngest, a lad; 

A favorite son he had long mourned as dead, 

And ten were now gone into Egypt for bread. 

In his tent, on the plain of fair Mamre, sat he, 

With his face to the south, that perchance he might see 

The return of his sons ; and his gaze was steadfast. 

For the time of their looked-for return was now past. 

Too long have they tarried — perhaps they are slain ; 

But a caravan now is in sight on the plain — 

Toward the tent of old Jacob they come, nor delay ; 

But he sees only nine — one, sure, is away. 

They come to their father — a sad interview — 

They tell of their journey, its incidents too ; 

For Reuben, the eldest, recounted it thus: 

' ' The lord of the country spake roughly to us ; 

He said we were spies, that to Egypt we came 

To spy out the land and report of the same. 

But when we had told him that we were men true, 

The sons of one father — an honored one, too — 

That our brother, a lad, was at home with you still. 

He fain would have kept us in prison until 

A messenger came and returned with the youth. 

To convince the stern ruler that we 'spake the truth. 

At length he consented that we might return 

With food and supplies, and your welfare to learn. 

That Simeon there as a hostage remain 

Till we shall go down into Egypt again, 

And take along with us our brother, the youth, 

And prove to him surely that we spake the truth. 



JOSEPH AND HIS BRETHREN. 259 

But as we came home — the strangest thing yet — 
As we opened a sack some provisions to get, 
In the mouth of the sack, there, lo and behold! 
"Was the money we paid for it — silver and gold ; 
We know not its meaning, but fear that the man 
Intends to deal hardly with us, if he can." 

And now, as they emptied the stores which they brought. 
They found all the money with which it was bought; 
The silver and gold, in full weight, had come back. 
And there it was then, in the mouth of each sack. 
Sore afraid now was Jacob — the patriarch good — 
vSore afraid were his sons, as around him they stood; 
He said : " There is little of comfort now left, 
For I of my children am sadly bereft ; 
My favorite, Joseph, to wild beasts a prey, 
And Simeon now is in Egypt away; 
And ye would take Benjamin far from me now — 
'Tis against my consent, and I cannot allow." 
Said Reuben, the eldest, "Trust me with thy son — 
Keep Hanoch and Phallu, my two, for the one; 
If Benjamin come not in peace back again, 
lyCt Hanoch and Phallu, my two sons, be slain." 
"Alas!" said the father, "'Twould bring no relief; 
The death of my grandsons would augment my grief; 
Ye know that his brother was lost long ago, 
And I will not consent that the lad shall now go ; 
If mischief befall him — this son of my age — 
There's nothing on earth that my grief could assuage. 
But down to the grave my gray hairs would go. 
Brought down by afflictions, by sorrow and woe." 

PART III. 

The famine in the land was sore, 

And long had it prevailed; 
Though Israel husbanded his store, 

That store at length had failed. 
He spake unto his waiting sons, 

With voice and mien subdued : 
"To save your wives and little ones, 

Go buy a little food." 



26o RURAL RHYMES AND OLDBN TIMES. 

Then Judah spake and answered thus: 

"My father, be it so — 
Send Benjamin along with us, 

And wilHngly we'll go. 
Let not the lad remain through fear 

That mischief him befall, 
For, if he go not with us there. 

We need not go at all; 
For he, the ruler of the store, 

Did swear in Pharaoh's name 
That we should see his face no more, 

Unless our brother came."' 

"Ah! what is this that ye have done?" 

The troubled father said; 
Why told ye that another son 

Your aged father had?" 
"Because," his sons did answer then, 

" The man did straight inquire: 
'Have ye another brother, men. 

Or have ye yet a sire ? ' 
He questioned us of all our state, 

And of our kindred too, 
But chief his questions did relate 

To Benjamin and you. 
We answered him as we have said, 

According to the truth : 
'One of our brothers now is dead. 

And one at home a youth.' 
Could we suppose that he would say : 

'Go, bring that brother down?' 
We cannot, dare not disobey, 

And meet that ruler's frown." 
Then Jndah. fur ^/ler spake: "My sire, 

Entrust the lad with the. 
And at my hand thy son require 

When I return to thee; 
If I return him not in peace, 

lyCt me then bear the blame, 
And let a father's curse ne'er cease 

To rest on Judah's name ; 



JOSKPH AND HIS BRETHREN. 26 1 

For, if we had not tarried thus, 

We might have twice returned. 
And brought up Simeon with us, 

For whom our hearts have yearned." 
Then Jacob spake again and said : 

" My grief is sore indeed; 
Go, get ye down and buy us food; 

Since fate has so decreed — 
Hard fate has said it must be so — 

Take Benjamin with you ; 
Arise, make haste, to Egypt go, 

And prove that ye are true. 
Go, take a present in your hand — 

'Tis little we can send 
Unto the ruler of the land — 

And may our God befriend ; 
Go, take the money back with you — 

The money which ye brought — 
An oversight, perhaps, in you, 

Or him from whom ye bought; 
Take other money, too, along — 

Take double money there — 
IvCt naught be found within you wrong, 

But prove yourselves sincere. 
And may the God of Abraham — 

He whom I daily serve — 
Go with you to the I^and of Ham, 

And all your lives preserve; 
May give you favor in the sight 

Of that great ruler stern. 
And guide your erring footsteps right, 

And hasten your return. 
O may that doubting ruler be 

Convinced that ye are true. 
And send the lad again to me — 

Your other brother too. 
Ah ! little hope to me is left. 

And I am sadly grieved; 
If of my sons I am bereft. 

How sad am I bereaved ! 



262 RURAI, RHYMES AND OI^D^N TIMES. 

Then go, my sons, to Egypt go ; 

My prayers shall heavenward rise — 
If Benjamin should fall, ye know 

With grief his father dies." 

PART IV. 

'T was morning in Egypt ; the sun, mounting high, 

Illumined the small and the great ; 
A caravan small, with their asses, drew nigh 

And stood by the governor's gate. 
The ten sons of Jacob — from Canaan they came. 

Away from a famishing land ; 
The governor saw them — he knew it was them, 

And their faces he eagerly scanned. 
He saw there a youth — a small, ruddy youth — 

Complexion and features agreed 
With those of his own, and he knew of a truth 

That this was his brother indeed ; 
The son of his mother, he knew him, although 

He never had seen him before — 
For he had been sold from his home long ago. 

Ere his mother that brother had bore. 
He turned from the men, and he spake to his steward : 

" Make ready a feast, very soon, 
A feast for the strangers, for be you assured 

That they shall dine with me at noon." 
And now are the brethren astonished, for, lo! 

To the governor's house they are brought ; 
They said: " 'Tis because of the money, we know, 

And occasions against us are sought; 
This ruler will keep us for bondmen, we fear — 

The asses also will be his; 
We felt and we feared that evil was near, 

And, oh, what an evil it is!" 
They came to the steward, and communed with him thus 

"Oh, sir, we came down here indeed. 
Compelled by the famine which preyed upon us, 

To purchase the bread which we need; 
And as we returned on the road, at an inn 

We opened our sacks, and behold ! 



JOSEPH AND HIS BRETHREN. 263 

The money of each we there found within, 

The full weight of silver and gold; 
Indeed, we know not how the money came there — 

We have brought it again in our hand; 
We also have brought other money with care, 

To buy for our famishing land." 
The steward made reply: "Fear nothing; for God, 

The God of your fathers, I ween, 
Has given you treasures; your money I had. 

And nothing amiss have I seen; 
Dismiss your forebodings and be ye at peace. 

Since ye have the ruler obeyed — 
He commands it, and I now your brother release; 

So be ye no longer afraid." 
Then into the palace he brought them, and said : 

"Here tarry, nor go hence away. 
For I am commanded a table to spread — 

Ye dine with the ruler to-day." 
The governor came when the morning was spent. 

And there the eleven he found ; 
They brought him the present their father had sent, 

And bowed themselves down to the ground. 
He asked of their welfare, and how they had sped — 

What them on their journey befell ; 
He asked of their father, the old man, and said: 

"Is your father alive? Is he well?" 
They answered: "Thy servant, our father, is well. 

And may he in health long remain — 
lyong time may he live in the land where we dwell;" 

And they bowed to the ruler again. 
But why does the governor's countenance change, 

As his eyes upon Benjamin rest? 
To the son of his mother he made himself strange. 

And his feelings with pain he repressed. 
"Is this the young brother ye spake of?" he said ; 

" His features all prove it is he ; 
They tell me, my son, that your mother is dead — 

May God now be gracious to thee." 
Why falters his voice, and why does he haste 

To go to his chamber alone ? 
Impelled by his feelings, he would have embraced 

That brother, till now never known. 



264 RURAI, RHYMES AND OI,DEN TIMES. 

He wept in his chamber, and then washed his face 

And returned to his brethren again ; 
Then ordered the bread to be be set in its place, 

While his tears he could hardly restrain. 
And now the men marvel. Three tables are set; 

One alone by the ruler is graced, 
One by the Egyptians — another one yet, 

At which the eleven are placed; 
But stranger than all, they saw themselves ranged 

In the order of birthright in line ; 
From oldest to youngest, the ruler arranged 

And placed them as if by design. 
The men marveled much that a stranger could know 

Their ages, or order of birth — 
Diviner of secrets, magician also, 

Or prophet of God upon earth. 
And now unto each of these brothers he sent 

Choice messes — the fruits of the Nile ; 
But Benjamin's mess was large in extent — 

And they drank and were merry the while. 

PART V. 

The ruler spake unto his steward: 
"These men are true, I feel assured, 

lyet them no longer tarry ; 
Go fill their every sack with grain, 
And as before, so do again ; 
Give them as much as all the train 

To Canaan's land can carry. 

"And in the mouth of every sack 
Put each man's purchase money back; 

You saw the lad, most surely — 
Then take my cup, the silver cup. 
The one from which I rarely siip. 
And then be sure you bind it up 

Within his sack securely." 

As thus commanded, so he did ; 
The sacks were filled, the cup was hid, 
And Jacob's sons departed ; 



JOSEPH AND HIS BRETHRKN. 265 

At early morn they went away ; 
Their mission thus accomplished, they 
Considered this a happy day, 

And each was lithesome-hearted. 

But soon their joys are at an end ; 
And now may God their lives defend — 

A troop is following after ; 
They come, they overtake them now ; 
The steward is there — to him they bow, 
While fear is written on each brow. 

And grief succeeds to laughter. 

"Why have ye made such base amends? 
My lord has treated you as friends — 

He gave you quite a revel ; 
But not content with him to sup, 
Ye steal away his silver cup ; 
False treasures are ye laying up, 

Requiting good with evil." 

They answered him: "Our God forbid 
That we should steal ! we never did 

According to thy saying ; 
The cup is not with us, be sure. 
And naught we've taken from thy store ; 
Why then, my lord, we ask — wherefore 

Against us thus inveighing ? 

"The money found within the sack — 
You know we brought that money back. 

At this, our second coming ; 
And thou didst tell thy servants this, 
That we had nothing done amiss ; 
Then from thy mind the thought dismiss, 

A thought so unbecoming. 

"Search every sack and all our stuff, 
And if the cup you find — enough — 
We're bondmen to your master; 



266 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

And he with whom the cup is found 
Shall die the death, and let resound 
Through Egypt, to its utmost bound, 
The tale of our disaster." 

The steward to them did make reply: 
"Then be it so; yet none shall die 

And be forever nameless; 
But he with whom the cup I see 
A servant to my lord shall be. 
And serve him ever; but for ye — 

All others shall be blameless." 

Then speedily their sacks were laid 
Upon the ground, and there displayed 

Until the search was ended ; 
Kach thought himself from danger free, 
Nor thought the stolen cup could be 
Within his sack ; but subtlety 

Had done the work intended. 

And then to search the steward began — - 
Searched Reuben's sack, while every man 

In silence stood around it ; 
'Twas Simeon's next, and then I^evi, 
Then Judah, Dan, and Naphtali ; 
The brothers' hopes were rising high, 

For yet he had not found it. 

But still the search more eager grew ; 
The sack of Gad and Asher too 

He searched, nor yet retreated ; 
Next Issachar and Zebulun, 
Then Benjamin, the youngest one. 
And then the eager search was done — 

The cup was there secreted. 

And now amazement seizes all; 
They rend their clothes, both great and small. 
And lade in haste their asses ; 



JOSEPH AND HIS BRETHREN. 267 

Then to the city they return, 

With shame, and grief, and deep concern. 

The fate of Benjamin to learn, 

Whose grief all grief surpasses. 

To Joseph's house in haste they came — 
For Joseph was the ruler's name — 

And fell upon their faces ; 
He said: "What deed is this ye've done; 
Did not ye know that such a one 
As I sees all beneath the sun, 

Kven in the darkest places?" 

"Ye know that I can well divine — 
Did not I place you all in line, 
According to your ages ? 
I saw your theft — a crime quite small 
Compared with one — I know it all ; 
I saw your other brother fall 

When you received your wages.'' 

Then Judah said: "What can we say? 
Our sins have found us out to-day, 

For God could only show thee ; 
And now thy servant, lord, is he 
With whom the cup was found, and we 
Will serve with him and honor thee, 

As all must do who know thee." 

The ruler said : "My God forbid 
To punish you for what he did — 

The youth shall suffer only ; 
My servant he shall here remain. 
But ye shall get back home again. 
Your aged father to sustain. 

And cheer his life npw lonely." 



268 RURAL RHYMES AND OI^DEN TIMKS. 

PART VI. 

Then Judah, approaching the ruler, thus spake : 

"lyct thy servant now speak but a word, 
In behalf of a father whose heart will sure break 

When the news of to-day he has heard, — 
We are murmuring not at thy sentence ; indeed, 

It is less than our actions deserve ; 
But, oh ! for the life of my father I plead — 

A life I would die to preserve. 

"We remember the words that we spake unto thee, 
Thy questions, and what we replied : 

You said to your servants, "A father have ye, 
Or have ye a brother beside?" 

"We told you a father in Canaan we had. 

That a brother we also had there, 
The son of his age, a youth — quite a lad — 

The object of all his fond care; 
And you did then swear by the life of your king 

That your servants should see you no more, 
Unless we from Canaan our brother should bring, 

And set him our lord's face before. 

"But when to our father thy servants returned, 

And reported thy words to him there — 
When the words of my lord our father had learned, 

His heart sank in grief and despair ; 
'Twas then that our father long time did refuse. 

While his tears in a torrent did flow ; 
For he said, 'Peradventure my son I shall lose, 

As his brother was lost long ago. 

" 'Ye know that the lad had a brother before — 

My joy, and that joy has fled ; 
He went from my presence, I saw him no more. 

And long have I mourned him as dead ; 
And Benjamin, now, is the only son left 

Of Rachel, my favorite wife. 
And if of that son I shall now be bereft, 

In grief I would end my sad life.' 



JOSEPH AND HIS BRETHREN. 269 

" 'Twas thus that our words and our arguments failed, 

Our father would listen to none ; 
But famine, at length, sore famine prevailed, 

And he parted in grief with his son. 
Then how can I go to my father again, 

If Benjamin be not with me? 
And how can I witness his anguish and pain, 

Or his death, for his death it would be? 
His life is bound up in the life of the lad ; 

If deprived of his son, he will die ; 
Then how shall I meet him with tidings so sad? 

never, no, never can I! 

"Perhaps you, my lord, have a father; if so. 
You can feel for my anguish and pain. 

For the sake of a father, then, let the lad go 
With his brethren to Canaan again ; 

let him return to his father in peace. 
To comfort him now in his age! 

1 pray thee in pity the lad to release, 
And to serve in his stead I'll engage; 

For I became surety my father unto — 

The lad has been placed in my care ; 
For the life of the lad, and my father's, I sue, 

And I trust you will grant me my prayer. 
I then as a bondman to thee will remain, 

My days whether many or few, 
For I cannot return to my father again, 

If Benjamin go not up too." 

'Twas thus Judah pleaded; for him it behooved 

The ruler's compassion to claim; 
But why does the ruler appear so much moved, 

And why so convulsed is his frame? 
At length he exclaimed, "Let all men depart; 

1 would be with these brethren alone!" 

His nerves were unstrung, and it seemed that his heart 
Was bursting with feelings unknown. 

And now all alone with his brethren, he wept; 

No longer could he now refrain ; 
That secret which long in his heart he had kept 

That heart would no longer retain. 



1 



270 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

He wept long and loud, and his weeping was heard 

In the household of Pharaoh afar ; 
Surprised were his brethren, emotion appeared 

His language, his speech, to debar. 

" I am Joseph, your brother! " at length he exclaimed; 

"O say, does my father yet live?" 
But they were so troubled, amazed, and ashamed. 

No answer to him could they give. 
"Come near unto me, my dear brethren," he said, 

" I fain would embrace one and all; 
You sold me to Egypt, and thought I was dead, 
• But God has prevented my fall. 

"Then be ye not angry or troubled that ye 

Did sell me in bondage, for know 
That God sent me here, a kind savior to be 

To you and your children also ; 
Two years has the famine been sore in the land. 

With five years of famine to come ; 
Though ye were the instruments, God gave com- 
mand. 

And sent me away from my home." 



DAVID AND GOLIATH. 



I lately had a vision strange, — 

I stood upon a mountain range; 

Another range hard by was seen. 

And there a valley lay between. 

I saw upon each mountain height 

A host of men in armor bright. 

Who looked like men of foreign clime, 

Or warriors of the olden time. , 

Their armor was not such as we 

In this our land and time can see : 

For cannon large, and smaller gun, 

I looked, but could discover none; 

But they were armed with bows and slings. 

And many other simple things — 



DAVID AND GOLIATH. 27 1 

For there, upon that warlike field, 
Were spear and helmet, sword and shield ; 
And there, upon each mount arrayed, 
A mighty host its arms displayed ; 
And it was plain to see that they 
Were ranged in battle's dread array. 

As there I stood with paling face 

And beating heart, there came apace 

A ruddy youth with features fair, 

A flashing eye and flowing hair ; 

He came and quickly hurried by. 

But as he passed I caught his eye ; 

He cast on me a look askance. 

And there was something in that glance, 

A something in that flashing eye, 

Attracted me, I knew not why. 

I felt as if I fain would know 

From whence he came, and where he'd go; 

And by that feeling strange impelled. 

By caution nor by fear withheld, 

I followed him, as on he sped. 

Without reflecting where he led; 

For, with a speed which few could boast, 

Straight went he to the smaller host ; 

And as we passed along the line, 

By many a warrior's strange ensign, 

I looked in vain for stripes and stars ; 

I saw no flag with crossing bars. 

No eagle and no lion there. 

No unicorn or northern bear, 

No shamrock and no thistle green, 

No crown or crescent could be seen ; 

But everything was strange to me, 

And naught familiar could I see. 

At length he stopped a flag before. 

And this was the device it bore : 

A golden rod with budding stem. 

On which was written " Ekthi^ehem." 

He spake and said to one, " How goes 

The battle 'gainst our country's foes?" 



272 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

But as he spake he turned to see 

The now approaching enemy. 

I saw upon his face surprise, 

A glance of ire shot from his eyes ; 

I turned myself to see, and, lo ! 

Down in the valley there below, 

Advancing, came a giant's form, 

With countenance like an angry storm ; 

And he was clad from head to feet 

In armor of defense complete ; 

So large was he — full ten feet high — 

And clothed in martial panoply. 

An object sure was he of dread ; 

A brazen helmet on his head, 

A plate of brass upon his breast, 

And one between his shoulders pressed — 

In coat of mail, which must have weighed 

Three hundred pounds, was he arrayed. 

His legs in bands of brass were bound, 

And stood as pillars on the ground ; 

A spear with iron head he bore — 

It weighed full thirty pounds, or more — 

The staff of which to me did seem 

As large as any weaver's beam ; 

And this he brandished in the air, 

And seemed to bid defiance there ; 

While one a ponderous shield upbore. 

And marched the mighty man before ; 

And all the opposing host, I saw, 

Of this great champion stood in awe. 

Methought he raised his voice aloud, 

Like thunder from a distant cloud; 

With tone and words inspiring dread 

He spake, and this is what he said: 

"Ye men of Israel, to-day, 

Why set yourselves in such array, 

Or why your arms combine ? 
How dare ye madly to oppose 
A host of warriors such as those 

Ye see within our line? 



DAVID AND GOLIATH. 273 

"Our army far outnumbers yours, 
And we have arms and warlike stores 

Of which ye little know ; 
Then why engage in battle strife, 
Or why endanger human life, 

'Gainst such a powerful foe? 

'Tis plain that Israel must bow 
To great Philistia's sceptre now, 

Our servants to abide, 
Or else Philistia proud must yield; 
And we have met upon the field 

The question to decide. 

"But why should ye contend with us, 
Or why engage in battle thus, 

Your freedom to regain? 
For when the bloody fray is done, 
And when the victory we have won. 

Your thousands will be slain. 

"Ye servants now of Saul, give ear. 
And all ye men of Israel, hear: 

If ye would end the strife, 
It may be settled now, and done 
Before the setting of the sun, 

With little loss of life. 

"Choose ye a man from out your host — 
The strongest that the land can boast, 

I care not who he be — 
And let him, armed with coat of mail. 
Come down and meet me in the vale, 

And fight the fight with me. 

"And should I then the victor be, 
And should he yield his life to me, 

Then ye shall tribute pay, 
And be our servants, as of yore. 
In Samson's days and years before. 

As I have heard men say. 

—18— 



274 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEjN TIMKS. 

"But if this good right arm should fail, 
And he, your champion, prevail — 

A quite unlikely thing — 
Then we will be your servants all, 
And pay our tribute unto Saul, 

Or him who may be king. 

"Ye men of Israel, once again. 
Before your warriors all are slain, 

I challenge for the fight; 
Choose ye a champion — one for all; 
Though it should be the mighty Saul, 

It will not me affright. 

" Day after day for forty days. 
My challenges, in various ways. 

Ye have not dared to meet; 
And now, this morn, again do I 
The hosts of Israel defy. 

Those challenges repeat. 

"Set not your armies in array. 
But choose a champion to-day 

Whose. valor has been tried ; 
For by my god, great Dagon, I 
The hosts of Israel defy. 

Whatever may betide." 

Now, when this boasting speech was heard, 

I saw the smaller host appeared 

Oppressed with fear and seized with dread. 

And many of their warriors fled. 

Their broken ranks were scattered all. 

And fear did many a heart appall ; 

But in the dire confusion then, 

Amid the terror-stricken men, 

That stripling's voice, distinct and loud. 

Was heard amid the surging crowd. 

I turned to look, but I could trace 

No sign of fear upon his face. 

His eye was towards the giant turned. 

His ruddy cheek with ardor burned, 



DAVID AND GOLIATH. 275 

And on his beaming countenance 
There sat a look of confidence, 
Which seemed to banish fear and dread 
From many who had turned and fled ; 
A single look upon them cast, 
A single word, as on they passed, 
I saw (and strange it was to see) 
Attracted them, as it had me ; 
He halted and he called to them 
Around the flag of Bethlehem. 

"Stay, men of Israel, stay ! " he cried, 
" For who is this that has defied 
The army of the living God, 
Which oftentimes by faith has trod 
The land of proud Philistia o'er. 
And conquered it in days of yore? 
Say, who's this boasting Philistine, 
This mighty man of Anak's line ; 
And wh}^ should he, I ask you why. 
The army of the Lord defy ? 
Is there no man in all the host 
Can stop the mightj^ champion's boast? 
Say, is there none who dares to go 
And meet him in the vale below. 
There fight with him, as he has said, 
And lowly lay him with the dead ? " 

"Are you," said one, " a stranger here, 

And have you never chanced to hear 

Or see this mightj^ man before, 

Whose words have troubled Israel sore? 

This champion from the city Gath, 

The famous giant, Goliath, 

Who comes at eventide and morn 

With words of pride and bitter scorn. 

And boasting language, loud and high, 

The host of Israel to defy ; 

While there is neither young nor old 

Who dares to meet this warrior bold. 

For there is none who ever yet 

Encountered him but those who met 



276 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

A bloody death — for who can stand 
Before the giant's mighty hand? 
The king would highly recompense 
The hero who would take him hence ; 
Has promised wealth and power for life, 
His daughter, too, to be his wife. 
But there is none who dares to go 
And meet him in the vale below, 
Although it humbles all our pride 
To hear our armies thus defied." 

I saw, while looking on the scene, 
A warrior of commanding mien. 
Of stature tall, and robust frame, 
'Twas Eliab, I heard his name; 
He stood the stripling youth hard by. 
And looked on him with envious eye; 
He seemed to know the stripling well, 
And thus he spake with haughty swell : 

"Vain-hearted boy, why are you here? 
Why have you left our father dear. 
And who, I ask you, now will keep 
And guard that little flock of sheep ? 
Full well I know your haughty heart ; 
You came not here to bear a part 
Within the battle soon to be. 
And which you only came to see." 

The youth replied: "My brother dear, 
The reason why you see me here 
I can explain" — then made a pause: 
"I came, and is there not a cause? — 
A cause for everything that's done 
Beneath the circuit of the sun?. 
Though now we may not see it clear, 
In after days 'twill plain appear, 
So plain that we'll acknowledge then 
God makes his instruments of men." 



DAVID AND GOI.IATH. 277 

He turned himself and spake again : 
"Ye men of Israel, here remain ; 
Flee not before this giant's face, 
Although he comes of Anak's race ; 
Let no man's heart before him quail, 
Let no man's spirits faint or fail. 
Let no man yield to'fell despair. 
For there is one I know will dare 
To meet this mighty champion, 
Before the setting of the sun. 
Yes, there is one who dares to go 
And fight with this gigantic foe ; 
F'or who is this uncircumcised. 
Who mischief 'gainst us has devised, 
And who is he — let woe betide^ 
Who has the Lord of hosts defied?" 

A murmur of applause arose, 
As rank on rank began to close, 
And it was said by one and all, 
"Go bear the tidings unto Saul ; 
Go tell the king a youth is here. 
Who, with a look and voice sincere. 
Declares that there's a champion 
Who dares to meet that mighty one — 
Will meet the boasting giant now, 
And strip the helmet from his brow." 

A dozen messengers or more 
At once the welcome tidings bore, 
And one was ordered then to bring 
The stripling in before the king. 

He went ; methought I followed, too. 

Though strange it all may seem to you ; 

I followed wheresoe'er he went ; 

I followed to the royal tent, 

And in and out I ventured free. 

For no one seemed to notice me. 

I've heard it said that men in sleep 

Can walk the heights, can walk the deep. 



278 RURAI, RHYMKS AND 0I.DE;N TIMES. 

Where waking feet would surely fall ; 
Even so walked I before King Saul. 
I saw that proud, majestic mien 
No living, waking eye has seen; 
I listened to the royal word 
No waking ear alive has heard, 
And stood the royal tent within, 
Where waking I'll ne'er stand again; 
And when the stripling entered, he 
The king accosted courteously. 

"They tell me," then the king began, 
"That you have found a valiant man 
Who dares to meet the giant foe. 
And lay Philistia's champion low; 
I've sought from Beersheba to Dan, 
But sought in vain, for such a man ; 
Now tell|me where, my son, is he. 
And who can that brave champion be?" 

The youth replied : "My lord, O king ! 
The warrior which to you I bring 
May not your expectations meet; 
But let me now, O king, repeat : 
Let no man's heart or courage fail 
Before this giant, clothed in mail. 
For I, before the setting sun, 
Will'meet[and|fight the champion"; 
And all the world will know full well 
That there's a God in Israel ; 
For who is hejwho makes his boasts 
Against the mighty God of hosts?" 

As thus he spake bef(>re the king 

The courtiers all stood wondering.; 

A mingled look — surprise and awe — 

Upon each face methought I saw; 

Surprise that one so very young 

Could move such numbers with his tongue ; 

That he, a youth with face so fair. 

To meet that mighty man should dare. 



DAVID AND GOLIATH. 279 

The king surveyed the youth, intent 
With looks in which I saw were blent 
His hopes and fears, and something more : 
A feeling that in days before 
He'd seen that youth who boldly stood 
A champion for the multitude. 

He spake to him in accents mild : 
"Say, who are you, bold, daring child? 
For you are but a child in years, 
Compared with him whom Israel fears ; 
Nor should you dare, young man, to go 
And fight the great Philistine foe; 
Too young you are, by far too small, 
To meet the giant, great and tall — 
A man whom none has dared to face. 
The mightiest man of Anak's race, 
Whose name and fame are known afar. 
And feared by all our men of war," 

All eyes were on the stripling turned, 
All hearts with expectation burned, 
But on his radiant face there came 
No look of fear, no blush of shame. 
That look of hope and confidence. 
Which seemed to scorn discouragements, 
Still shone upon his features fair. 
And spoke a firm reliance there ; 
While still that something in his eye 
Attracted every passer-by. 
He made a gesture with his hand — 
The king for silence gave command — 
And then the stripling bowed his head. 
And thus unto the king he said: 

" 'Tis true that my days upon earth have been few. 

And I know not how soon they must end. 
But I am quite willing to dare and to do. 

And with that great giant contend. 
You ask me, O king: 'What bold, daring youth, 

A child in comparison true. 
Now dares to engage with a giant in truth, 

The largest the world ever knew ?' 



28o RURAI, RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

"My father, an old man, is now far away, 

And his name I wish not to reveal ; 
For if I should fail in the contest to day, 

From that father my death I'd conceal. 
I'm the son of a shepherd, whose flocks I have kept 

On the hills of Judea, alone, 
And oft in the wilderness. land I have slept, 

Where the bear and the lion are known. 

"But lately there came a lion, a bear. 

And they carried off one of the flock ; 
I followed them then, and I followed them there 

To a den in the cleft of a rock ; 
The lion against me arose in his might, 

And his roaring was terrible then ; 
No sword I had there, but I slew him outright, 

That terror of beasts and of men. 

"The lion I slew then, and also the bear, 

And this boasting Philistine shall be 
As those, the fierce and savage beasts, were. 

And his head will be given to me ; 
You'll say it was rash and imprudent for one 

So small and so young as I am 
To grapple a lion, when help there was none, 

To avenge but the loss of a lamb. 

"I knew it, I felt it, as onward I trod, 

But something still whispering said: 
'Go on, in the strength of Israel's God, 

And trust in Jehovah for aid.' 
I went, but went not in strength of my own; 

I trusted in God, the Most High, 
And He who delivered me then when alone 

Will succor me still when I cry., 

"I hear the same whispering voice even now; 

It bids me undaunted go on, 
And when I remember the lion, and how 

I conquered, my fears are all gone ; 



DAVID AND GOI.IATH. 28 1 

I fear not to meet with that giant so tall, 

I dread not his sword or his spear ; 
The God of high heaven is stronger than all, 

And trusting in Him, I come here." 

I saw that as he spake his word 
A strong and deep emotion stirred 
Within the breast of every one 
Who chanced to hear, as I had done ; 
And even the king appeared to be 
Convinced that friendly destiny 
Had sent the youthful shepherd there. 
To do what others did not dare, 
And hope, unbidden, seemed to spring 
Within the bosom of the king. 
That he, that daring shepherd boy. 
Might turn their fear and grief to joy. 

"Go on," he said, "I give consent; 
Go on, and be you confident. 
To meet that champion so dread. 
And fight the fight in our stead ; 
And may the God of Jacob go 
With you against the boasting foe ; 
And that you may 'gainst him prevail, 
I'll arm you with a coat of mail ; 
This breastplate, too, and helmet take, 
And wear them for your country's sake." 

The king's own armor then, forsooth. 
Was given to the shepherd youth. 
And he essayed with it to go 
Against the great Philistine foe ; 
But soon returned that coat to doff, 
And put the royal armor off. 
"I cannot move," said he, "with ease; 
I cannot go at all with these ; 
But I will go with weapons such 
As I have used and handled much — 
My trusty sling, my shepherd's crook. 
With stones from out the pebbly brook ; 
These are the weapons which I choose 
Against this mightj^ man to use." 



282 RURAI, RHYMK3 AND OI^DEN TIMES. 

With these, I saw from royal tent, 
He toward the giant swiftly went, 
While mighty warriors stood aghast, 
As on and onward still he passed, 
Descending to the vale below. 
Where still was seen the threat'ning foe ; 
And there in expectation stood 
An anxious, waiting multitude. 

A tremor strange appeared to seize 

The king, who tremble'd in his knees ; 

He spake to one and said: " O sir ! 

Pray tell me, Abner son of Ner, 

Who is this strange, mysterious youth? 

Speak now, and tell me all the truth ; 

Who can this strange young warrior be, 

Pray tell me now, whose son is he ? 

For surel}^ surely I have seen 

That youth before, and know his mien ; 

And surely, surely I have heard 

That voice, which has so strangely stirred 

Emotions in this breast of mine. 

And bade me trust a power divine." 

The captain of the host replied : 
" From thee, O king, I would not hide 
The name or station of the youth ; 
But, as thy soul shall live, in truth 
I know him not, nor whence he came, 
Nor do I know his father's name; 
A stranger he appears, and yet. 
Like you, I feel that I have met 
That bright, attractive, beaming eye, 
Admiring it, not knowing why." 

" Go, Abner," said the king again; 
"Inquire of all, till you obtain 
A knowledge whence the stripling came. 
Whose son he is, and what his name ; 
And when the fact you ascertain, 
Then quickly bring me word again. 



DAVID AND GOLIATH. 283 

For fain would I that stripling know, 
And whether he be friend or foe ; 
For there is something whispers me 
That this strange youth, perchance, is he 
Of whom the prophet Samuel spake, 
Who, in the coming time, shall take 
The sceptre from the house of Saul, 
And reign a king o'er Israel all; 
Klse why should I so strangely feel 
A fear that I cannot conceal?" 

Meanwhile the stripling moved along, 

And I, amid the wondering throng, 

Still followed him, as I had done, 

Till he approached the champion, 

While he, the giant, came apace 

To meet the stripling face to face; 

And thus he spake in haughty tone 

Unto that shepherd youth unknown: 

"Come you," said he, " from Saul, the king? 

And what's the message which you bring? 

Has he, your king, selected yet 

A man who dares, without regret. 

To place his life in jeopard}^ 

And fight, for life or death, with me?" 

"He has,'" the youth replied, "and I 

Have come to conquer, or to die!'" 

" You? You?" the giant said; "indeed 

You surely jest ; I cannot heed 

Such words from such a boy as you ; 

Send me a warrior, tried and true, 

A warrior worthy of the name ; 

A man of power, a man of fame; 

A champion bold, a champion tried ; 

A nation's choice, a nation's pride ; 

For I am not a dog, that I 

From bo3'S with sticks and stones should fly. 

Return, whate'er your name may be. 

And do not dare to encounter me ; 



284 RURAI, RHYME;S and OI.DEN TIMKS. 

lyest I be tempted to resent 
Such base insult with base intent, 
And give your flesh in very deed, 
The fowls and beasts of prey to feed." 

The youth replied in language meek : 
" You may be strong, and I am weak ; 
• Of giant size though you appear. 

And though you're armed with sword and spear, 

I do not heed your threat'ning boasts ; 

But, trusting in the God of hosts, 

I come, the stripling that I am. 

And God, the God of Abraham, 

I trust, in this my trying hour. 

Will nerve my feeble arm with power 

To overcome a giant's strength. 

That all the land, throughout its length, 

Shall know that Israel's God is He 

Who gives us strength and victor}'- ; 

And you, proud man, will soon be slain 

By him whom you so much disdain ; 

For ere the sun shall set to-day 

I'll take that head of thine away, 

And give your body, large indeed, 

The vultures of the air to feed ; 

And all Philistia's host shall be 

Appalled with fear, and they shall flee." 

"By Dagon, then," the giant said, 

"Come on, your blood be on your head! 

Since you have dared a bloody fate, 

No longer will I hesitate 

To send you hence, from life and ease 

To spirit land, the land Hades ; 

Yoiir dainty form, so fair and frail, 5 

Upon my spear will I impale, \ 

And hold it up, that all may see 'i 

The end- of youthful vanity." "^ 

"I come," the stripling said, "I come; 

Now let your idol, deaf and dumb, :] 

Assist you in the coming hour 

Against Jehovah's might}^ power." 



DAVID AND GOLIATH. 285 

As thus the giaut he addressed, 
Still on and forward yet he pressed, 
And near and nearer yet he drew, 
The giant moving forward too ; 
When suddenly the stripling took 
A stone which came from out the brook, 
And placing it the sling within, 
He hurled it with a whizzing din ; 
Unerringly the missile sped, 
And struck the giant on the head 
With such a force that it was plain 
The stone had sunk into his brain. 

He fell at once upon his face ; 
The stripling hurried on apace, 
Until I saw him victor stand 
Beside the giant, sword in hand; 
For with the sword the giant wore 
I saw him stand the giant o'er. 
And from the giant's body, dead, 
I saw him cut the gory head, 
And as a trophy bear it hence 
In triumph, toward the royal tents. 

But now, Philistia's champion dead, 
Philistia's hosts in terror fled ; 
With dread, dismay, and fear imbued. 
They fled, and fiercely were pursued 
By all the hosts of Israel then. 
And many were the foemen slain. 

The stripling joined in that pursuit, 
A warrior bold, be^^ond dispute ; 
And when the fierce pursuit was o'er 
He came the conquering host before, 
And there were plaudits loud and long, 
The women joining in the song 
Of triumph which the victors sang. 
While instruments of music rang, 
A loud acclaim of general joy. 
To welcome that victorious boy. 



286 SURAL KHYMBS AND OLDEN TIMES. 

Great Abner, then, the son of Ner, 
Approached the youth and said : "Brave sir, 
Receive a nation's welcoming ; 
I^et me conduct you to the king, 
"Who waits to learn whose son you are. 
And how you came such deeds to dare — 
To thank you for the victory won. 
And hail you Israel's champion." 



Again he came before the king, 
Whose welcome then was flattering: 
"Brave youth," he said, "a warrior true, 
Pray tell me now whose son are you? 
Your name and residence pray tell. 
And what your tribe in Israel ? 
Your father's house I fain would make 
Illustrious for j^our valor's sake." 
The youth, with modesty, replied: 
"My name, O king, I've ne'er denied; 
My father lives at Bethlehem ; 
He came of Judah's tribe or stem, 
And I'm your servant Jesse's son, 
Who kept the sheep — his youngest one ; 
And oftentimes, within your hall, 
I played the harp before King Saul." 

Though 'twas in sleep those things occurred. 

And but a dream I saw and heard, 

'Twas David, son of Jesse, sure — 

His name I oft had heard before ; 

'Twas David, Israel's shepherd king, 

Who long ago did sweetly sing 

Those pious Psalms, which have come down 

With radiance brighter than his crown. 

And will a monument endure 

Till things of time shall be no more, 

Till bright eternity shall dawn, 

And monuments of stone be gone. 



DAVID'S THRKE MIGHTY MEN. 287 

DAVID'S THREE MIGHTY MEN. 



II. Samuel xxiii. 13. 

Within Judea's rocky hold 

Judea's warrior chieftain lay, 
And there his chosen soldiers bold 

Watched round him through the sultry day ; 
Upon his brow the fever burned, 

And raged like fire his breast within, 
While backward still his thoughts were turned 

To where his early home had been; 
Back to the place where, long ago. 

In boyhood's youthful, happy day, 
He tuned his harp to music's flow, 

And sang the shepherd's evening lay. 
Amid these scenes he seemed to dwell ; 

His thoughts reverted back to them ; 
He longed for waters from the well — 

The famous well of Bethlehem. 

The fever seemed to parch his brain ; 

His burning thirst was raging sore, 
And though he drank, and drank again, 

He thirsted still and longed for more. 
"O that some one," the chieftain said, 

"Would bring me living water now, 
With which to bathe my aching head. 

And cool my ever-burning brow. 
I drink the waters of the hold. 

But small relief to me they bring ; 
I long for waters, pure and cold, 

That come from out the gushing spring ; 
I ask not power — that magic spell ; 

I ask not gold nor costly gem ; 
But O for waters from the well, 

The famous well of Bethlehem ! 

"My fancy hurries me away, 

Amid my wild and feverish dreams, 

To where the limpid waters play. 

Along the winding, pebbled streams ; 



RURAL RHYMES AND OLDBN TIMES. 

I see each well-remembered rill 

That e'er my happy boyhood knew, 
As, hurrying from the vine-clad hill, 

They passed the rolling meadow through. 
I hear the bleating of the sheep. 

Amid the pastures decked with green, 
And when I wake, I wake to weep 

At such a vain, illusive scene. 
Oh! how I long no tongue can tell, 

To be at home again with them, 
To drink the waters of the well 

Hard by the gate of Bethlehem. 

" But I have wandered far away. 

And years have passed me swiftly by ; 
I've mingled in the battle fray. 

And seen the mighty foeman die ; 
I've sought the phantom light of fame 

A royal camp and court within ; 
I've sought and gained a warrior's name — 

lyong time a warrior I have been. 
Though royalty has decked my brow, 

A kingly scepter though I sway, 
I do not feel the pleasures now 

I did in boyhood's youthful day ; 
And though I wear a crown of gold, 

I'd give my glittering diadem 
For water from that fountain cold — 

That well, the well of Bethlehem. 

"Though in this mountain fort confined 

I lie, and pine from day to day. 
My roving thoughts are unconfined. 

And they are wandering far away. 
Those truant thoughts still spurij control ; 

They come and go without my will; 
lyike to the restless waves, they roll, 

And never, never will be still. 
But all my longings are in vain. 

And vain, alas! is my desire; 
For enemies upon the plain 

Are round me like a wall of fire ; 



DAVID'S THRKE) MIGH'TY ME^N. 289 

My foes beleaguer me around — 
They're spread abroad in Rephaim, 

And all Philistia's host is found 

Between this hold and Bethlehem." 

Three youthful warriors, standing by, 

O'erheard their chieftain's sad complaint, 
And they resolved to do or die; 

Despite of danger or restraint, 
They took their course toward Bethlehem.; 

They left the hold at fall of night. 
And through the vale of Rephaim 

They passed in armor strong but light; 
In vain Philistia's hosts oppose. 

In vain those valorous men assail; 
Those warriors three withstood their foes. 

Against them fought and did prevail; 
They fought, their lives determined to sell 

Within that vale of Rephaim, 
Or, conquering, gain the famous well 

Hard by the gate of Bethlehem. 

Then through the mighty host they break, 

And on the dangerous way pursue; 
Nor could their baffled foes o'ertake 

Those youthful warriors, brave and true. 
They passed the vale of Rephaim, 

They passed o'er hill, through dale and glen, 
Till at the gate of Bethlehem 

They stood beside the famous well; 
And water from that well they drew — 

'Twas from a clear and living vein — 
And then returning, breaking through 

Philistia's mighty host again, 
They to their chieftain come, and tell 

The things that had befallen them — 
"See, here is water from the well, 

That well, the well of Bethlehem ! " 



—19- 



1 



290 RURAL RHYMERS AND OLDEN TIMES. 

"Oh, how intense I've longed for this ! " 

The suffering chieftain said. " Indeed, 
It surely cannot come amiss 

In this extremity of need. 
Bring me a goblet ; I will drink 

And quench my burning thirst once more." 
But hold ! what makes the monarch shrink ? 

'"Tis red ! 'tis tinged with blood and gore ! 
I cannot drink, for see, ah, see ! 

It sure is blood — the blood of those 
Who put their lives in jeopardy 

When passing through their countless foes ; 
The blood of those who vowed to sell 

Their lives in bloody Rephaim, 
Or bring me water from the well, 

The famous well of Bethlehem. 

"Go pour it out upon the ground, 

A fit libation to the Lord ; 
And when prosperity is found. 

Those men shall have a rich reward." 
'Twas done. The king came to his own. 

And peace and kingly power returned ; 
He sat upon King David's throne — 

A mighty monarch, wise and learned — 
And these three valiant men became 

The chief of David's mighty band, 
And stood upon the mount of fame, 

The chief in all Judea's land. 
Three thousand years have passed, and still 

Historic pages speak of them. 
Who brought that water from the well, 

The famous well of Bethlehem. 



DAVID'S I.AMENTATION, 29 1 

DAVID'S LAMENTATION FOR SAUL AND 
JON A THAN. 



II. Samuel i. 17. 

How are the mighty fallen now, 

And, oh, how low the valiant lie ! 
Pale is the mighty monarch's brow, 

And dim the warrior's eagle eye ; 
L/et mournful notes of sorrow swell, 

And tears bedim the weeping eye ; 
The beautiful in Israel 

Is slain upon her places high ! 

Oh, tell it not within the street, 

The street of Askelon the proud. 
Nor yet the story sad repeat 

In Gath, nor spread the news abroad- 
lycst they, our enemies, rejoice. 

And triumph o'er the bloody fall 
Of him who was the nation's choice. 

The valiant-hearted sovereign Saul. 

Upon thy mount, O Gilboa ! 

lyct there be neither dew nor rain, 
For there the shield was cast away. 

And there was the anointed slain ; 
lyCt sacrifices never more, 

Nor fields of offering, be made 
Upon that mountain stained with gore, 

Where Israel's mighty chieftain bled. 

Where now the conquering sword of Saul, 

Which ne'er came bloodless back again'* 
The bow of Jonathan, withal, 

So often bent, nor bent in vain? 
Oh, perished are those weapons ijow! 

They perished when the mighty fell 
Upon the rugged mountain's brow, 

Where sank the pride of Israel. 



292 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDKN TIMES. 

More swift than eagles in their flight — 

Far swifter Jonathan and Saul ; 
As strong as lions in their might, 

And pleasant were they yet withal ; 
Most lovely were they in their lives — 

Nor severed in their dying day ; 
The memory of the brave survives, 

And will while ages roll away. 

O weep, ye Hebrew daughters, now. 

For Saul, who clothed you with delight, 
Put ornaments upon the brow. 

Of gold and silver jewels bright; 
Who clothed you in apparel gay. 

With robes of scarlet fair and fine ; 
O weep, and chant a dirge to-day, 

And join your notes of grief with mine. 

How fallen are the mighty men ! 

The first and foremost in the fray, 
O Jonathan ! thou too wast slain 

Upon the mount of Gilboa ; 
How fallen, on the mountain's brow. 

Those men of war, those men of state ! 
How perished are the weapons now 

Of Saul and Jonathan, the great ! 

O Jonathan, my brother dear! 

For thee, alas ! I am distressed; 
How lovely and how pleasant were 

Thy words to me when sore distressed ! 
Thy love was passing strange to me. 

Surpassing woman's love to man ; 
O Jonathan ! adieu to thee, 

Adieu, my brother Jonathan ! 



PRKACHING TO THE NINEVITES. 293 

PREACHING 70 THE NINEVITES. 



'Twas in the flight of ages past, 

And in a region far away, 
There stood a city unsurpassed 

By any in Assyria; 
'Twas ruled and governed by a king, 

As such large cities often were, 
But there was many an evil thing, 

And wickedness abounded there. 

And as in wealth and power it grew, 

It grew in wickedness and sin ; 
But there was One above who knew 

And marked iniquity therein. 
Exceeding great was Nineveh — 

None greater in that eastern clime — 
And as the years still rolled away. 

It grew in wealth, it grew in crime. 

At length there came at even-tide 

A stranger from a foreign land, 
Who, passing through the city, cried 

The vengeance of the I^ord at band; 
He heeded not the public gaze. 

As through the streets he passed alone, 
And cried aloud, "Yet forty days 

And Nineveh shall be o'erthrown." 

As thus in strange apparel clad 

(A foreign accent on his tongue), 
He passed, with countenance pale and sad, 

And clarion-like his voice rung: 
"Ho! Ninevites, beware the day! 

Repent, and for your deeds atone ; 
Yet forty days and Nineveh, 

Great Nineveh, shall be o'erthrown !" 

At first his words unheeded fell. 

And many mocked and jeered aloud, 

But still in solemn tone they swell 

Above and through the surging crowd; 



294 RURAI. RHYMKS AND OI.DEN TIMES. 

Still louder and more earnest grew 
His words, with awe-inspiring tone : 

"Yet forty da5^s — alas, how few! — 
And Nineveh shall be o'erthrown." 

The night had passed, the morning came, 

That preacher strange again appeared, 
The same strange message to proclaim; 

And day by day his voice was heard, 
From street to street he made his way. 

And cried in that same solemn tone: 
"Ere forty days have passed away 

Great Nineveh shall be o'erthrown." 

That message, like the knell of doom, 

Fell heavily upon each ear ; 
Then mockery ceased, and in its room 

There came a dread and solemn fear; 
'Twas felt by all, both high and low; 

It seized the king upon his throne; 
Alas ! alas ! it must be so — 

Great Nineveh will be o'erthrown ! 

The king proclaimed a solemn fast 

Throughout the length of his domain : 
" Until those forty days have passed, 

Let man and beast from food abstain ; 
Cry mightily to God on high, 

And make our deep contrition known; 
Perhaps that God will hear our cry 

That Nineveh be not o'erthrown." 

When God, who sent that prophet there. 

And bade him thus to prophesy. 
Had heard their fervent, humble prayer. 

He listened to the suppliant cry ; 
Though He had said that Nineveh 

Should fall, and be to ruin brought, 
■ When from their sins they turned away. 

Repented Him, and did it not. 



PREACHING TO THE NINEVITE6. 295 

Yet some there be — that know the plan 

Of Deity — pretend to say 
That things decreed ere time began 

Cannot be changed, howe'er we pray ; 
That those who were by God contemned 

And passed, in his great first decree, 
May pray in vain ; they're still condemned, 

And lost to all eternity. 

It seems the prophet thought so, too, 

And he was angry at the change ; 
That God had said that He would do, 

And did it not, to him was strange ; 
The kind compassion of his Lord 

Poor mortal man condemns outright. 
And yet compassionates a gourd. 

Which grows and withers in a night ! 




poe/T\s, Deseriptiue apd /rjilitary. 



THE HORRORS OF CIVIL WAR. 



A DRKAM. 



This poem was written in April, 1861, and was intended as a kind of 
prophecy, or guess, at the events about to follow. How far the prediction 
was fulfilled, and how far it failed, those who lived through those years of 
war can answer. 

A dream I have had, so wild and so strange — 

It lasted the whole of the night ; 
Through days, weeks, and months my fancy did range, 

Till waked by the bright morning light; 
I stood, as I thought, on a wire-hung bridge 

That spanned the Ohio's bold flood. 
And the banks of the stream, the vale, and the ridge 

Were stained — they were crimson with blood. 

I saw that the waters which glided below 

Were tinged with the blood of the slain 
Whose bodies were borne by the stream in its flow 

Away toward a far southern main. 
Ah ! dismal the scenes that arose to my view; 

The demon of war had been there. 
Sad and mournful the sight, and sick my heart grew, 

For ruin was everywhere. 

Hard by rose a city — 'twas Wheeling, I thought; 

Its streets were deserted and lone. ' 
Civil war desolation and ruin had wrought, 

And commerce and plenty had flown; 
The ga)^, busy throng that once crowded its street 

I looked in vain to behold ; 
Processions moved slow to the drum's muffled beat. 

And the bells for a funeral tolled. 



THE HORRORS OF CIVII, WAR. 297 

Far away to the south, far away to the west, 

The ensigns of war were in view. 
And the land by the foot of the spoiler was pressed, 

By the conquered and conquerors too ; 
Far away to the north and to the northwest. 

The war-sounding bugle was heard, 
And brothers once borne on the same mother's breast 

In hostile array now appeared. 

But soon a change came o'er my dream. 

And all its scenes were shifted. 
And I adown life's troubled stre'am 

For days and weeks had drifted ; 
And drifting down the stream of time, 

It seemed a mighty river. 
Which, flowing toward a southern clime, 

Seemed rolling onward ever. 

And drifting down that turbid stream — 

So like the Mississippi — 
These warning words disturbed my dream : 

" I'll meet thee at Phillippi." 
A city of the foremost rank 

My floating bark seemed nearing; 
'Twas built upon the western bank. 

And Western men were cheering. 

The shouts of victory loud were heard 

Amid the notes of wailing, 
And far away fair Freedom's bird, 

With drooping wing, was sailing. 
Well might it flee, since peace had fled — 

The Greek had met the Greek there — 
And brothers' blood, by brothers shed, 

Had mingled in the streets there, 

"O whence," I asked, "this dire mischief, 

And what has caused this madness? 
And why are some o'erwhelmed with grief, 

And others wild with gladness ? 



298 RURAI, RHYMES AND OLDKN TIMES. 

Can men of feeling heart rejoice 
O'er such a scene of slaughter, 

Or answer with insulting voice 
A brother's cry for quarter?" 

Yet so it was, or seemed to be — 

No mercy sure is due us — 
Alas for man's perversity ! 

Alas for proud St. I^ouis ! 

But now the scene was changed again, 
And, marshalled on a spacious plain, 

Two armies were in motion ; 
Full twenty thousand fighting men 
Were drawn together there and then. 
And wave on wave they came, as when 

The storm has lashed the ocean. 

One army high a flag unfurled — 
A flag respected o'er the world, 

And known by every nation ; 
The other raised a banner too. 
Its colors red and white to view — 
A flag whose stars and stripes were few. 

And 'twas of modern fashion. 

And ranged beneath those flags were men 
Who seemed determined to conquer, when 

The battle-storm should lower ; 
Full soon it came, and oh, the shock ! 
Such scenes my powers of language mock ; 
I stood transfixed as any rock. 

To stir without the power. 

Then thrice the deadly onset came, 
And thrice the issue seemed the same, 

Kach still on each encroaching ; 
But hark ! what sound is that afar ? 
The bugle's note, the cannon's jar ! 
And see that flag with stripe and star 

The scene of strife approaching ! 



th:e horrors of civii. war. 299 

A re-itiforcement from the north, 
In countless numbers, issued forth ; 

And soon, the conflict ending, 
The smoke of battle rolled away, 
And there in death the thousands lay, 
Who met and fell in battle fray, 

With brothers all contending. 

An awful scene it was to view — 

God grant my dream may ne'er prove true ! 

The mangled, dead, and dying 
Were mixed and mingled here and there, 
And pools of blood were everywhere ; 
And dying men, unused to prayer, 

For mercy then were crying. 

The shout of victory died away 

As shades of evening closed the day. 

And nature, hushed in silence. 
Seemed mourning o'er her broken laws — 
That man, for such a trivial cause, 
Should madly rush into the jaws 

Of war, and death, and violence. 

Changes still my dream came o'er ; 

Rapidly those changes passed. 
First, upon the ocean's shore, 
Then upon the prairie vast ; 

But the theme was still the same 
Everywhere— - 
Men were marching to and fro. 
Causing blood and tears to flow, 
. Covering the land with woe — 
Once so fair ! 

Far upon the briny deep, 

Where I never went before. 
Traveled I last night in sleep — 
Sailing half the ocean o'er — 

But to 'scape the scene was vain ; 
It was there — 



300 RURAI, RHYMES AND OI^DEN TIMEIS. 

There upon the ocean wide, 
There upon the swelling tide — 
Ships of war, with blood bedyed, 
Sailing were. 

Though the night was clear and mild, 

And the moon and stars were bright, 
Yet a tempest, fierce and wild, 
Came before the morning light ; 
Not a tempest such as wakes 

Ocean's foam. 
But of angry, human strife — 
Scenes of blood with carnage rife, 
Brother seeking brother's life — 
Far from home. 

There I saw those banners raised — 

Those I saw in fight before; 
There the murdering cannon blazed 
With a dread and deafening roar — 
Cries of agony were heard 

To resound; 
And upon each bloody deck 
Men were moving wild and quick, 
While the slain were falling thick 
All around. 

Still the contest fiercer grew, 

Fiercer yet the battle raged, 
Whilst the red, the white and blue 
'Gainst the modern flag engaged; 
But to tell the closing scene 

Tongue would fail. 
Both those ships in air were blown. 
Friend and foe aloft were thrown — 
And the sea, with fragments strewn, 
Told the tale. 



THE BATTLE OP LONE JACK 301 

Thus it was, throughout the night — 

Ranging Fancy's wild domain — 
Nothing met my sleeping sight 
But such scenes as gave me pain ; 

"How long," I asked, " how long until 

Strife shall cease? 
Must this civil war still waste 
Freedom's land, by science graced? 
Haste the time, great Ruler, haste 
Smiling peace ! " 

I/ist the answer: "Time will prove; 

From the time the war begun. 
Mars, the god of war, shall move 
His fiery chariot round the sun ; 
Then shall arms throughout the land 

Cease to gleam." 
Such the answering words, which fell 
In thunder-tones that seemed to swell 
Until they woke and broke the spell 
Of my dream. 



THE BATTLE OF LONE JACK. 



Foug-ht on the i6th of August, 1862. 

'Twas August, and faintly the sunbeams were falling, 

And gently the breezes of summer passed by, 
But they bore to my ears a sound most appalling. 

For death-dealing cannon were thundering nigh; 
The roar of the cannon and small arms were blended, 
The smoke of the battle to heaven ascended. 
While friends of the Union 'gainst foeman contended, 
And fought hand to hand at the town of I^one Jack. 

The battle began at the earl}^ sun-rising ; 

The hours passed on, and the battle still raged ; 
I listened intent, and vay thoughts were devising 

Some means of escape for the friends there engaged ; 



302 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

I knew the Confed'rates by thousands were counted, 
The soldiers in blue to eight hundred amounted, 
The chances against them I fearfully counted, 

And tremblingly thought of their fate at lyone Jack. 

No word could I get from the conflict before me. 

No messenger came from the harvest of Death; 
Naught but the report which the musketry bore me — • 

That men were contending for victory's wreath. 
And victory's wreath the Fates were withholding, 
But the roar of the cannon a tale was unfolding — 
The friends of the Union were still upholding 

The stars and the stripes at the town of L<one Jack. 

Four hours wore on, and the cannon ceased roaring, 

The sound of the musketry, too, died away ! ♦ 

A prayer from the depth of my soul was outpouring — 

"May God help the friends of the Union to-day!" 
And now that the conflict of battle was ended, 
My thought and my reason seemed lost and suspended — 
I felt that the friends who so nobly defended 

Our flag were all captured or killed at Lone Jack. 

Not long did suspense and uncertainty hold me — 
A cavalry force was approaching in view ; 

They came on apace, and my anxious eye told me 
'Twas friends of the Union, the soldiers in blue ; 

They passed by me then in a hurried progression, 

File following file in rapid succession — 

Those heroes who fought 'gainst the host of secession, 
And watered with blood the small town of Lone Jack. 

But many were left on the dread field of action; 

The dead, and the dying, and wounded were there. 
Away from sweet home and its every attraction, 

Away from their friends and their relatives dear; 
And there now in silence those heroes are sleeping, 
Though years have rolled by, and the voice of weeping 
Is hushed in their homes, and we are now reaping 

The fruits of their labors performed at Lone Jack. 



spottsylvania's wilderness. 30 

SPO TTS YL VAN I A S WILDERNESS. 



'Twas when the great Rebellion raged, 

'Twas in its darkest, saddest hours, 
When Grant and I^ee fierce conflict waged, 

And marshalled their opposing powers ; 
When, madly surging, like the swell 

Of ocean, deep and fathomless, 
The tide of battle rose and fell 

In Spottsylvania's wilderness. 

'Twas then I saw Alonzo first ; 

I saw him in the Union line — 
And where the storms of battle burst 

He bore aloft the proud ensign — 
He waved that banner overhead, 

And shouted: "Comrades, onward press! 
'Tis victory now, or gory bed 

In Spottsylvania's wilderness." 

I saw him next as, pale and wan, 

Upon the field of strife he lay ; 
The struggling hosts were moving on, 

And still contending, miles away; 
Amongst the mangled and the dead, 

He lay in anguish and distress. 
All pale upon his gory bed. 

In Spottsylvania's wilderness. 

A night of darkness and of gloom 

Had passed, and at the morning's dawn 
He woke as waking from the tomb. 

With countenance pale and woebegone ; 
No tender, nursing hand was there, 

No surgeon came his wounds to dress. 
But there was One who heard his prayer 

From out that gory wilderness. 



T 



304 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

All helpless, mangled, pale, and weak, 

With racking pain and anguish riven, 
In whispers only he could speak — 

Those whispers faint were heard in heaven, 
And succor, timely succor, came. 

It found him in his helplessness. 
And bore his bleeding, mangled frame 

From out that gory wilderness. 

His banner, with a soldier's pride, 

He begged might still with him be borne — 
That banner which his blood had dyed, 

And which the bursting shell had torn; 
'Twas bound around his shattered arm — 

That arm which bore it proudly — yes, 
Amid the raging battle-storm 

In Spottsylvania's wilderness. 

Alonzo lives, and often since 

I've met him in life's busy din ; 
His crutch and empty sleeve evince 

In what a conflict he has been ; 
And, ah ! how many wounded thus 

We meet, and pass, and ne'er express 
Our thanks that they have bled for us. 

In passing war's dread wilderness ! 

O may the nation ne'er forget 

The men who, in that hour of gloom, 
Stood by its flag — the foemen met — 

Nor quailed amid the cannon's boom ; 
May monuments be raised which will 

A people's gratitude express 
To those who 'neath that banner fell, 

In passing through that wilderness. 

And may the gallant soldier who, 

Alonzo-like, has lost a limb. 
Be cheered life's weary journey tlijough, 

To know the nation cares for him ; 



THE HOMESICK SOLDIER. 305 

O may the many thousand such 

Ne'er suffer from our thanklessness, 

But may our sympathetic touch 

Be felt through life's sad wilderness. 



THE HOMESICK SOLDIER. 



There is a spot, far, far away — 

To that my thoughts will roam ; 
I think of it by night and day — 
It is my home, my home. 
When shall I see my home, 
O when shall I get home? 
Ivong time, alas ! I've been away 
From that, my peaceful home. 

Amid the thunders of the war. 

Amid its bloody foam, 
I've borne aloft the stripe and star, 
Far, far away from home ; 
I've wandered far from home, 
Far, far away from home — 
I think by day and dream at night 
Of that once happy home. 

I oft have met my country's foes. 

And thought that Greece nor Rome 
Ne'er boasted-braver men than those 
That marched with me from home ; 
But they are far from home — 
They sigh for friends and home — 
And many sleep in bloody graves, 
Far, far away from home. 

I had a brother dear, and we 
Together ploughed the loam, 

Together marched and fought ; but he 
Will never see our home ; 



306 RURAL RHYMBJS AND OI^DKN TIMES. 

He ne'er will see his home — 
Our father's happy home ; 
He fell upon the battle-field, 
Far, far away from home. 

And I was then, by fate, compelled 

To meet a prison's gloom — 
A prisoner of war I'm held. 
Away from friends and home ; 
O when shall I get home — 
When shall I see my home? 
Long time it seems I've been away 
From that, my peaceful home. 



THE BANDIT'S DREAM; OR, THE HILLS OF 
SNI-A-BAR. 



The night was one of splendor. 

The moon was riding high — 
A horseman, tall and slender, 

Rode by the winding Sni — 
Past many a lonely dwelling. 

And by deserted farms,* 
Which silently were telling 

Of war, and war's alarms ; 
He rode along all careless. 

He noted not the scene. 
For he was wild and fearless, 

And wore a bandit's mien ; 
He, from his native villa. 

Had wandered here afar. 
And roamed, a stern guerrilla, 

On the hills of Sni-a-bar. 

But now the moon is sinking 
Away into the west — 

Of what can he be thinking. 
And why so much depressed ? 



* The land was depopulated and desolated by "Order No. ii," in the 
■winter of i86|. 



THE bandit's dream. 307 

He rides no longer fearless 

Along the winding Sni, 
But from a cabin cheerless 

He looks with glaring eye ; 
'Tis something sure appalling . 

Has met the bandit's gaze — 
Else why should he be falling 

Into such dread amaze ? 
For he, a reckless ranger, 

Has trampled stripe and star, 
And courted crime and danger 

On the hills of Sni-a-bar. 

The night is past and over, 

The morning comes anew — 
He seeks a fellow-rover, 

And bids him thus adieu : 
"I can no longer stand it 

To live the life we lead ; 
I've been a bloody bandit, 

A bloody one, indeed. 
But I have seen a vision, 

A vision of the dead — 
I see you look derision, 

As doubting what I've said ; 
But 'tis not fear of danger 

That takes me from you far, 
To be no more a ranger 

On the hills of Sni-a-bar. 

" Now listen while I tell you 

The fearful things I saw — 
To see them would impel you 

From Quantrell to withdraw, 
lyast night, while I was waking. 

And watching all alone, 
I saw a spectre taking 

A seat hard by my own; 



3o8 RURAL RHYMKS AND OLDEN TIMES. 

My father, who has slumbered 

In death for many suns, 
And who, I trust, is numbered 

Amongst the happy ones — 
'Twas he; I saw and knew him 

By the light of moon and star — 
My crimes it was that drew him 

To the hills of Sni-a-bar. 

"And as I sat in terror. 

Unable to withdraw. 
The spectre held a mirror. 

In which I plainly saw 
Myself as in my childhood, 

In innocence and truth — 
Our cottage home, the wildwood, 

The happy scenes of youth ; 
I saw my school-mates playing 

Upon the village green, 
And I, with loud hurrahing. 

In that gay crowd was seen ; 
But the pleasant sight was fading, 

Those youths were sundered far, 
And one through blood was wading 

On the hills of Sni-a-bar. 

"But then there came another 

And yet a dearer scene — 
I saw my doting mother, 

My sister Josephine — 
The faces of my brothers 

Were in the mirror there; 
And yet I saw another — 

The fairest of the fair ; 
They looked, as last I saw them, 

With pitying eyes on me, 
When something seemed to draw them 

To read my destiny; 
That destiny unchanging, 

Beneath an evil star, 
Has sent me madly ranging 

The hills of Sni-a-bar. 



THK bandit's dream. 309 

"As oft that mirror shifted 

The scenes were shifted too, 
As though a curtain lifted 

Exposed them to my view. 
I saw a man lie gasping — 

His blood was flowing warm, 
And a weeping wife was clasping 

His mangled, bleeding form; 
I saw his paling features, 

And knew them all too well — 
One of my fellow-creatures. 

And by my hands he fell; 
And in his grave, unheeding, 

I thought he slept afar. 
But sure I saw him bleeding 

On the hills of Sni-a-bar. 

"Another form all gory 

Within that glass appears, 
A man whose head was hoary 

With the frosts of fifty years; 
He too, I saw, was lying 

And weltering in his gore — 
I saw him bleeding, dying. 

As I saw him once before. 
When, all devoid of anguish, 

With a heart as hard as stone, 
I left him there to languish. 

And bleed and die alone; 
But now my fears had bound me 

To Death's ensanguined car, 
And victims crowded round me 

On the hills of Sni-a-bar, 

"Then came that victim youthful. 

With eyes so mild and blue, 
Who died for speaking truthful 

Concerning me and you. 
He looked as when he pleaded 

For life at our hands, 
And a mother interceded 

With stern guerrilla bands; 



3IO RURAI, RHYMKS AND OI^DBN TIMKS. 

But vain was all his pleading, 

In vain the mother wept, 
He sank to earth all bleeding, 

And there in death he slept ; 
But though he sleeps with numbers, 

With naught his peace to mar, 
He haunts me in my slumbers 

On the hills of Sni-a-bar. 

" 'Twas thus the scenes kept changing, 

But each was full of dread, 
And I, it seemed, was ranging 

Amid a host of dead ; 
A burning town before me — 

The flames were spreading free, 
And fancy's vision bore me 

To I^awrence massacre; 
I saw our victims lying 

Upon the bloody street, 
While we in haste were flying 

Back to our wild retreat. 
A thousand scenes of terror 

Arose my peace to mar, 
Reflected in that mirror 

On the hills of Sni-a-bar. 

" I'll quit this life of pillage. 

These scenes of blood and strife. 
And in some quiet village, 

Reform my wayward life; 
No longer will I join 5^ou 

In reckless, wild forays. 
And may kind Heaven incline you 

To leave these sinful ways. 
Nay, nay, do not resist me. 

My course is taken now; 
And, oh, may God assist me 

To keep my sacred vow ! 
I never more may greet you — 

I'm going hence afar — 
But spectres oft will meet you 

On the hills of Sni-a-bar. 



THE DYING SOLDIER AT LONE JACK. 3 II 

"And when within that mirror 

You see, as I have seen, 
Those scenes of blood and terror 

Upon these hills so green. 
You'll feel, as I am feeling, 

A weight of guilty fears, 
While conscience stands revealing 

The deeds of by-gone years. 
Ah ! little did I ever 

Expect so sad a sight, 
And may I witness never 

The scenes of the last night. 
Oh ! not for wealth uncounted, 

Nor throne of king or czar. 
Would I see my crimes recounted 

On the hills of Sni-a-bar." 



THE DYING SOLDIER AT LONE JACK. 



A soldier of the Union lay 

Sore wounded at L/One Jack, 
And as his life-blood ebbed away, 

His thoughts were wandering back- 
Back to his childhood's early home. 

Back to his native land, 
And dreaming fancy seemed to roam 

Amid a kindred band. 

No wife or child beside him now. 
Though wife and child he had ; 

No comrade bathed his bloody brow — 
His comrades all had fled ; 

And there, upon that hard-fought field, 
In that small village street. 

He lay with those who scorned to yield- 
Disdaining to retreat. 



312 RURAL RHYMKS AND OLDEJN TIMKS. 

No kinsman's hand or voice was nigh 

To minister relief; 
But yet there was a pitying eye 

lyooked on the .scene with grief — 
A stranger, though a friend, stood near 

The dying soldier's side, 
And wept his dreaming talk to hear, 

And soothed him till he died. 

Through seenes of youth he seemed to pass, 

Though now his hair was gray, 
And once again he led his class, 

As in his school-boy's day; 
He called his playmates' names, although 

None answered to his call, 
For some had died long years ago. 

And far, far distant all. 

He often called his father's name — 

He called his brother's too — 
But oftener still his mother came 

Within his dreaming view ; 
He seemed to think that mother near, 

And for her hand would feel — 
'Twould melt the hardest heart to hear 

His piteous appeal : 

"O mother, help your little son — 

My aching head is sore, 
And here I lie, with pillows none. 

Upon the cold, hard floor; 
O lay me on my trundle-bed. 

Or take me on your knee — 
She does not hear what I have said ; 

O where can mother be?" 

Anon the scene would change, and he. 

By fancy still beguiled, 
A husband, father — seemed to be. 

And spoke of wife and child ; 



THE DYING SOLDIER AT IvONE JACK. 313 

He Spoke of them so tenderly, 

So often called their names ; 
Though absent, yet 'twas plain that they 

Were present in his dreams. 

His days of early manhood came. 

And passed in plain review, 
His constant struggles after fame. 

His disappointments too; 
He spoke of hardships undergone, 

He spoke of dangers passed, 
And still his thoughts kept wandering on, 

And wandered to the last. 

But then more recent scenes appeared 

To claim his wandering thought — 
The storm which civil war had stirred. 

The suflferings it had wrought; 
Upon his home and family 

His thoughts appeared to dwell ; 
With them again he seemed to be — 

To them he bade farewell. 

" Farewell, my wife, my children all — 

My country calls away, 
And can I hear my country call. 

And not the call obey? 
I go, and ere I shall come back. 

Grim War shall cease to frown; 
I go, though men may call me black, 

To put rebellion down. 

"I go, my wife, I go, my son. 

The Union to sustain. 
For North and South shall still be one, 

And one shall still remain; 
I go, and if I ne'er return. 

Farewell, ye loved ones all — 
And if I fall, I trust you'll learn 

I fell as man should fall." 



314 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDKN TIMES. 

But then his fancy, more and more, 

And wilder, seemed to roam ; 
He seemed to think the war was o'er, 

And he was safe at home ; 
And there, as if to friends, he told 

Of war and war's alarms. 
Of many a comrade soldier bold 

And many a feat of arms. 

Of conflicts sore he spoke of one — 

A sore, a bloody fight — 
The hard day's march from I^exington, 

The skirmish of the night , 
Spoke of the sleepless bivouac, 

As on their arms they lay 
Within the village of I^one Jack, 

To wait the coming day. 

And then he spoke of the attack, 

Which came at early morn — 
The rebel charge, the falling back, 

The hedge and growing corn ; 
He spoke of deeds of daring done. 

Of many a soldier slain. 
The loss of the artillery gun. 

The taking it again. 

But there his memory seemed to fail — 

His voice was failing too — 
Alas! he ne'er will tell the tale 

To those he loved so true; 
Some other tongue to them will tell 

The story he essayed. 
Describe the battle where he fell, 

The spot where he was laid. 



THE SOLDIER FROM THE KANSAS LINE- 3x5 

And there, beneath that lonely tree, 

Which gave the town its name,* 
The traveler will turn to see 

And read a warrior's fame. 
And when the tree shall cease to stand, 

As it must shortly do, 
A monument, with marble hand, 

Will point to where it grew. 



THE SOLDIER FROM THE KANSAS LINE. 



A soldier from Missouri, 

In manhood's early prime, 
I^ay with the dead and dying. 

Far in a Southern clime ; 
On the bloody field of Corinth 

His life was ebbing fast. 
And comrades, faint and bleeding. 

In crowds were hurrying past ; 
He saw his young companions — 

The friends of happier days — 
Retiring from the conflict. 

Before the cannon's blaze. 
And borne along, all tattered. 

The starred and barred ensign, 
That flag which he had followed 

From near the Kansas line. 

A comrade stopped beside him. 
And raised his drooping head. 

And thus, in faltering accents, 
The dying soldier said : 



"The town of lyOne Jack takes its singular name from a lone tree of the 
black-jack species, which stood upon the high ridge of prairie dividing the 
waters of the Missouri and the Osage, in the immediate vicinity of which 
was built the little village of Lone Jack, The tree, though dead, was still 
standing at the time of the battle, and near it were buried the dead of both 
armies. A monument or marble shaft has been erected to the memory of the 
Confederate dead, but the Union soldiers sleep without any; but an iron 
fence encloses both. 



3l6 RURAI, RHYMES AND Oi^DEN TIMES. 

"Farewell, my friend and comrade, 

A long, a long adieu — 
Though you may shortly follow me, 

I'll ne'er leturn to you; 
With me the war is over, 

My marching's at an end. 
And now a dying message 

By you I fain would send ; 
O bear it to my kindred. 

Those distant friends of mine, 
For I have friends and kindred 

Near to the Kansas line : 

"I have an aged mother — 
You know that mother well ; 

bear to her the tidings 
How I in battle fell, 

And tell her I remember 
In anguish her advice, 

To stay at home in quiet. 
Nor join the chieftain Price ; 

And if I had but heeded 
The good advice she gave, 

1 would not now be hurrying 
Into the yawning grave ; 

But I heeded other counsel, 
And left that home of mine — 

A home of peace and quiet, 
Near to the Kansas line. 

"You know my brothers also — 

Tell them the mournful tale. 
And when in death I'm sleeping, 

They will my fate bewail ; 
They know I strove, all vainly, 

Secession's tide to stem, 
Till, blinded by a phantom, 

I bade adieu to them ; 



THK SOLDIER FROM THE KANSAS LINE. 317 

They know the things that drew me 

Away from them and home, 
And the phantom light that lured me 

Through Dixie's land to roam ; 
And that the heart beat loyal 

Within this breast of mine — 
But it will never beat again 

Upon the Kansas line. 

"Tell to my neighbors, also. 

Who preached secession loud, 
And counseled me and others 

To swell the rebel crowd, 
That though they now are loyal 

Their lives and goods to save, 
'Twas they who sent me, surely, 

To fill a soldier's grave ; 
And though I can forgive them, 

I'd have them not forget 
That, but for them, I might have been 

At home with mother yet ; 
And though I lie far distant, 

This mangled form of mine 
May haunt their dreaming slumbers 

Upon the Kansas line. 

"And there's a dark-eyed beauty — 

I need not call her name — 
Who swerved me from my duty. 

And fanned the rebel flame ; 
Her words to me, ' Remember, 

No hand with mine unites, 
Unless I find it boldly 

Defending Southern rights.' 
Those Southern rights, alas ! friend, 

I knew not what they were. 
But, with you and others, followed 

The fleeing phantom's glare ; 



3lS RURAL RHYMKS AND OLDEN TIMES. 

I sacrificed my judgment 
At beauty's magic shrine, 

And joined the rebel regiment 
Upon the Kansas line. 

"And now, dear friend, remember 

And heed my last request — 
I feel my mind is wandering, 

I soon shall be at rest ; 
Now dim prophetic visions 

Before me seem to pass, 
And storms of blood and carnage 

Are gathering, alas ! 
And ere the war is ended — 

So foolishly begun — 
A thousand youths, misguided, 

Will do as I have done ; 
A thousand doting mothers 

Will be bereft like mine, 
A thousand homes be desolate 

Along the Kansas line." 

And then, his reason-failing. 

The soldier ceased to speak. 
And on that field of battle. 

Where Greek had met the Greek, 
His life was made an offering 

Unto the god of war, 
Whose victims bled by thousands — 

Alas! alas! what for? 
The land is dark with mourning. 

Draped in the weeds of woe. 
And the wailing notes of sorrow 

Are heard from high and low, 
And many a home is desolate, 

As j&re and sword combine 
To make a howling wilderness 

Along the Kansas line. 



> THE FADED BANNER. 319 

THE FADED BANNER; OR, HOPE-FORLORN. 



The circumstance which gave rise to this poem was the surprise and 
massacre of the citizens of Kingsville, in Johnson County, Missouri, on the 
7th of May, 1865, by a band of about one hundred guerrillas led by A. Clem- 
ents, a lieutenant of the noted Bill Anderson. The sentiments contained in 
the poem are taken chiefly from Baldwin's oration, delivered on the third 
anniversary of the massacre, and published in the Warrensburg Standard 
about the 12th of May, 1868. The poem was also published in the same paper 
a week or two after. 

I saw a faded banner wave 

Amongst the budding woodland trees, 

'Twas planted near a soldier's grave, 
And floated on the passing breeze. 

"What flag is this," I asked of one— 
"This faded banner, worn and torn?" 

He said: "That flag, through rain and sun. 
Has often led the Hope-forlorn." 

"That Hope-forlorn," I asked again — 
" Now tell me who and what were they? 

And does that Hope-forlorn remain, 
Or has it died and passed away? " 

"A band of true and loyal men. 

By rebel hands were nigh o'erborne, 

United for defense, and then 

Those men were styled the Hope-forlorn. 

"A Hope-forlorn they seemed to be, 
For other hopes had failed and died ; 

They vowed beneath the flag you see 
To stand or perish side by side. 

"And well they kept that sacred vow; 

They stood together night and morn — 
They're bound together even now, 

The members of that Hope-forlorn." 



320 RURAL RHYMES AND OI.DEN TIMES. 

"Why is it here — that torn ensign — 

Why waves it o'er these lonely graves?" 

He said: "Here sleep the murdered nine 
And o'er their dust this banner waves. 

"Here Duncan, Paul, and others sleep, 
Who fell that fatal Sabbath morn; 

But Freedom's friends will ever keep 
In memory green that Hope-forlorn. 

"The storm of war had passed away, 
In which they well had borne their part, 

And peace, with its reviving ray, 
Was cheering every loyal heart, 

"When rebel bandits, seeking blood, 
To Kingsville came at early morn. 

And, bursting like a whelming flood, 
O'erpowered the feeble Hope-forlorn. 

"They waited till the storm had passed, 
Ivike Booth, to quench their bloody thirst, 

And with him they'll be ever classed — 
Of murderers the very worst. 

"Three years have come and passed away 
Since that remembered Sabbath morn. 

And at their graves we meet to-day 
To honor that small Hope-forlorn. 

"Upon this consecrated ground. 

When comes the seventh day of May, 

I<et friends of Freedom gather round. 
An annual tribute here to pa3\ 

"That faded flag above their graves — 

That flag by them through danger borne— 

Shall wave as now you see it waves. 
And point us to that Hope-forlorn." 



-iyj 



THE WATCHMAN. 32 1 

THE WATCHMAN; OR, THE BURDEN OF 
DUMAH. 



Isaiah xxi. 11, 12. 

This poem — a kind of prophecy or prediction — was written about the 
last of 1864, and published in the Independence Messenger. 

THK QUESTION. 

Watchman upon the tower, ho ! 

What of the stormy night? 
Say, does the storm-cloud darker grow. 

Or is there coming Hght? 

How long until the day shall break — 

How long until the dawn — 
How long till peace and order wake, 

And strivings be withdrawn? 

How long ere blood and carnage cease 

To stain a guilty land, 
And till the olive-branch of peace 

Shall wave on every hand? 

This call I hear from Edom's land, 

It comes from out of Seir ; 
'Tis borne on southern breezes bland 

Into the watchman's ear. 

ANSWER. 

The night is coming, dark with gloom, 

O'er that rebellious land. 
And, lo ! the impending hour of doom 

Is even now at hand. 

A darker night than Egypt knew 

Awaits secession's clime; 
A darker and a longer too, 
V And soon will come the time. 



-ai- 



322 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

The power of that ill-fated land 

Is broken and dispersed, 
And rebel chiefs must kiss the hand 

Of Abraham the First. 

But though the night approaches fast, 

The morn is coming too, 
And when the stormy night has passed, 

The sun will rise anew. 

A glorious day will yet arise. 
Cheered by the beams of peace. 

And when secession's doctrine dies. 
The storm of war will cease. 

And now should you inquire again, 
" What of the stormy night? " 

Ask, and the answer will be plain : 
" There is a gleam of light." 

Return, the watchman calls, return 

Kre it shall be too late; 
Return, rebellious ones, return — 

Return, each rebel State! 

To your allegiance return. 

Nor longer dare rebel, 
And from those bloody lessons learn 

In union still to dwell. 

Come to the Federal Union — come 
Ere darker grows the day ; 

Come quickly to your ancient home. 
The glorious U. S. A. . 



THE CRUEL WAR IS OVER., 323 

THE CRUEL WAR IS OVER. 



Written in 1865. 



'Tis done— the bloody strife is o'er, 
The storm of war has passed — 

We hear the marching tramp no more 
Of men in armor massed. 

The howling storm of war is hushed, 

Its echoes die away; 
The mighty rebel power is crushed, 

With all its grand display. 

The sunny beams of peace illume 

The land from east to west, 
And where but late was grief and gloom, 

The land in smiles is dressed. 

A mighty nation stands confessed, 

Its power is fully tried ; 
No North, no South, no Kast, no West — 

It never can divide ! 

Now washed away a darksome stain. 

Now free the Ethiop race, 
For those who strove to rivet chains 

Have torn them from their place. 

A land of freedom now, indeed, 

For Slavery's reign is o'er ; 
The fate of war has now decreed 

That slaves are slaves no more! 

Then let our thanks to heaven ascend, 

And let us grateful be 
To those who did the land defend — 

Who made the nation free. 



324 RURA.I. RHYMES AND OtDEN TIMES. 

But there is many a heavy heart, 
And many a saddened home; 

And sires who saw their sons depart 
Will never see them come. 

The widow's wail, the orphan's cry, 
And sounds of grief like these — 

The mother's moan, the sister's sigh, 
Are borne upon the breeze. 

And there are thousand unknown graves. 
Where Union soldiers sleep. 

And hundreds lie beneath the waves, 
Down in the watery deep. 

But though they sleep in death, away 
From friends and far from home, 

Fair Freedom will their names display 
Upon her temple's dome. 

And when the circling years have sped — 
And they are speeding fast — 

The mem'ry of the gallant dead 
Will live, and long 'twill last. 

And those who freely gave their blood 

To quench the rebel fires 
Will have a nation's gratitude, 

Till gratitude expires ! 



i 



po^n\s, D^SGriptiue apd S(j9ti(n(^i)tal, 



THE LONELY TREE. 



'Twas in daj^s long since departed, 
When in youth and lithesome-hearted, 
Ere my plans of life were thwarted, 

First I saw this lonely tree ; 
'Twas in autumn, sere and sober, 
'Twas the last of sad October, 
After frost, the great disrober. 

Had embrowned the prairie lea. 
And had scattered many a leaflet 

Round about this lonely tree — 

Then I passed this lonely tree. 

Passing o'er the rolling prairie, 
All was wild and sad and dreary, 
And my feet were worn and weary. 

Traveling far from Tennessee ; 
Autumn's sun was setting bright then. 
Scarce a house or farm in sight then. 
And the cold and frosty night then 

Closed around me chillingly ; 
I upon this desert prairie 

Slept, and woke at morn, to see 

Standing here this lonely tree. 

Fate or chance, my steps impelling, 
Led me then to fix my dwelling 
Whence, across the prairie swelling, 
I could see this lonely tree. 



326 RURAI, RHYMKS AND OI.DEN TIMES. 

On its eminence commanding, 

Fire and flood and storm withstanding, 

It has stood, and yet is standing, 

Where it stood in " thirty-three," 
And for ages prior had served 

As landmark on the prairie lea — 
Standing here a signal tree. 

Here, upon these open ranges, 
It has seen a thousand changes, 
And could tell a tale that strange is, 

Could it speak its history. 
Indian warriors by the hundred 
Here have met, and here have sundered; 
And curious ones have often wondered 

Where those warriors now may be; 
They have left those grounds of hunting, 

Gone toward the western sea. 

Far from this now lonely tree. 

Changes still have been occurring, 
Busy mortals have been stirring 
Since the time to which referring, 

First I passed in "thirty -three." 
Rolling tides of emigration 
Came from many a land and nation, 
Fixing here their home and station, 

Round about this lonely tree; 
And a town or village rising 

Near the spot, as all may see, 

Bore the name of this lone tree.* 

Toiling men and enterprising, 
Danger and fatigue despising. 
Came, and soon were realizing 
Comfort in a great degree ; 

*IyOne Jack. 



THE LONEI.Y TREE. - 327 

Care and toil the world behooving, 
Energetic men were moving, 
And the land was fast improving 

All around this lonely tree; 
Farms were spreading east and west, 

Further than the eye could see — 

Still it stood a lonely tree. 

Other changes came quite sadly; 

War had scourged the nation badly, 

And contending armies madly 

Met and fought at this lone tree.* 

'Neath it now the slain are sleeping, 

Silent watches round it keeping, 

And their distant friends are weeping 
For the slain at this lone tree ; 

Friends and foes together sleeping- 
Peaceful may their slumbers be, 
Resting 'neath this lonely tree. 

Sad the lesson we've been learning — 
Farms and houses round us burning, 
Exiles far away sojourning. 

Friends we never more shall see — 
Bitter fruits of fell secession — 
Followed fast in quick succession; 
Fire and sword and war's oppression 

lyeft their footprints plain to see ; 
Not a single person dwelling 

In the village near the tree — 

lyonely now, this lonely tree. 

Once again in autumn sober, 
Passed I here, in sad October; 
Death, that great and last disrober. 
Had disrobed this lonely tree — 



♦August 16, 1S62. 



328 RURAL RHYMES AND OI,DEN TIMES. 

It was dead and fast decaying, 
Branches pendantly were swaying 
In the breezes, sadly saying, 

" Man has fallen, so must we ; 
He has left the country wasting. 

Not a human face we see" — 

Ivonelier this lonely tree. 

lyonely tree ! the worms did gnaw it. 
Passing ravens seemed to caw it — . 
Lonelier than when you saw it 

First in eighteen thirty-three. 
True, indeed, 'twas lonely — very — 
And the village, once so merry, 
Then was lying solitary — 

Burned, abandoned, sad to me; 
Where the shops and stores had stood there 

Naught was left but vacancy, 

All was gone save this lone tree. 

Banished by the military,* 
Dwellers none were on the prairie, 
All was desolate and dreary. 

In October, "sixty-three" ; 
Farms were lying waste, or wasting, 
Bitter fruits of war all tasting. 
And the land to ruin hasting, 

Mourned for man's perversity; 
Out of all that population^ 

Once so happy, once so free. 

None were near this lonely tree. 

Once again, complaining pronely, 
Busied in my rhyming only, 
I am by the tree, so lonely.f. 

Which I passed in "thirty-three." 



*By "Order No. ii." 
tjanuary, 1865. 



THE PRISONER. 329 

Oft with many a care encumbered, 
One and thirty years I've numbered 
Since the time I slept and slumbered 
On the prairie near the tree — 

the many, many changes 

That have passed o'er it and me ! 
I am lonely like the tree. 

Now its trunk is standing only, 
Where it long has stood so lonely. 
And its branches, scattered pronely, 
L/ie around the parent tree. 

1 have branches, too, that's left me — 
Death has oftentimes bereft me; 
Soon the tide of time will drift me 

Over life's tempestuous sea; 
Then, with wife and children resting, 
I^et me lie near this lone tree — 
They are sleeping near this tree. 



TUB PRISONER.'^ 



Another weary day has passed, \ 

Gone down another sun — ] 

My days, my hopes, are sinking fast, ': 

They vanish one by one. \ 

'Tis said that hope, long time deferred, j 

Makes sick the human heart; 

And long I've waited for the word '•■. 

That bids me hence depart. 

But still I wait and hope in vain, \ 

That word comes not to me ; \ 

A prisoner I here remain — "; 

O when shall I be free ? 1 



'■'Referring' to a youthful friend who died in prison at Fort Douglass 
in 1864. 



330 RURAI, RHYMES AND OI^DEN TIMES. 

They tell me I am homesick now; 

'Tis true I pine for home, 
And were I there again, I trow, 

I never more would roam. 

I've pined for many a weary day 
Within this prison camp. 

But still my thoughts are far away — 
Forever on the tramp. 

They come and go without control. 
They will not be confined — 

The cravings of a deathless soul. 
The pinions of the mind. 

I think of home and friends by day, 
And dream of them by night; 

how I long to haste away. 
And with those friends unite ! 

My kindred near, my kindred dear — 

how I long to be 

Released from my confinement here. 
Those dear loved ones to see ! 

And that dear father, too — shall I 

K'er see that face again. 
And tell him how it was and why 

1 caused him grief and pain ? 

1 fain would tell him how I came 
The Southern ranks to join. 

And how a prisioner I became 
Within the Union line. 

He knows that I was loyal when 
I left my home and him — 

A friend unto my country then, 
Whose flag I ne'er would dim. 

But when the rebels raiding came. 
Conscripting right or wrong 

(Perhaps I was myself to blame), 
They carried me along. 



the; prisoner. 331 

And now a pris'ner here confined 

For many weeks I've been. 
And during those long weeks I've pined 

A guarded camp within. 

In dreams, I often pass the gate, 

My freedom oft regain. 
And hurry back to friends, who wait 

To welcome me again. 

My brothers, and my sisters too. 

In dreams are oft with me. 
And that dear home mj^ boyhood knew 

In dreams I often see. 

But short the joy those dreams impart; 

I wake to realize 
That they are dreams, and sick at heart, 

I vent my waking sighs. 

Long time I may not tarry here; 

I feel that I ere long 
Shall cease to hope, shall cease to fear. 

To do or suffer wrong. 

That earthly home recedes from me — 

The land that gave me birth — 
But I by faith can sometimes see 

A brighter home than earth. 

Last night my sainted mother came, 

My sorrows all beguiled — 
Her smile on me was just the same 

As when I was a child. 

She pointed to a region fair — 

To realms far, far away — 
And said, "No pris'ners languish there, 

And youth shall ne'er decay." 

She pointed to a gate which led 

From out my prison's gloom. 
She pointed to a path and said, 

"That leads you to your home. 



332 RURAI, RHYMEJS AND OLDEN TIMES- 

"It is the road your mother trod 
When you were but a boj' ; 

It led her to the throne of God, 
To realms of endless joy. 

".Farewell, my son, a short farewell — 

I may not tarry here ; 
Soon shall you come to me, and dwell 

In 3'on celestial sphere." 

And now I go — vain world, adieu ! 

No longer here I'll dwell; 
My father, brothers, sisters too — 

Farewell, farewell, farewell ! 



SCENES OF MY CHILDHOOD. 



Written upon visiting- the home of my childhood, after an absence ot 
eight and thirty years. 

lyong years had elapsed, and I had grown old, 

Since leaving the land of my birth, 
When again I returned once more to behold 

That dearest loved spot upon earth; 
The dear, cherished home, where my lot had been cast, 

And my eyes opened first on the day; 
Where the days of my earliest childhood were passed. 

And my years glided smoothly away. 

In the morning of life, in my boyhood's day, 

I had left it and wandered afar ; 
And then when my hair was silvered and gray, 

I returned on the steam-going car; 
I came to the home of my childhood alone — 

'Twas changed, but it still was the same — 
I stood on its threshhold a stranger unknown. 

None knew me or called me by name. 



SCENES OF MY CHILDHOOD. 333 

In the house which my father had builded I stood, 

And my thoughts traveled backward again 
To the days of my youth, to my sunny childhood. 

And my pleasure was mingled with pain ; 
No father, no mother, to greet me I found — 

No brother or sister in view ; 
lyong time had that father lain low in the ground, 

And my brothers were lying there too. 

My thoughts, by fond memory, backward were drawn 

And they whispered this truth to my heart : 
"Companions and playmates of youth are all gone, 

And alone, all alone now thou art !" 
'Twas sad, and yet pleasing, at once to review 

Those scenes to my memory dear. 
To visit each spot which my infancy knew 

Bre my life had been burdened with care. 

The house and surroundings were part of that scene — 

The old-fashioned chimney yet stands, 
And I thought of the time when, a youth of sixteen, 

I molded each brick with these hands. 
Forty years have gone by, and firm and still hard 

The bricks in that chimney I see; 
But of those who then toiled in that dusty brick-yard 

Not one is now living but me. 

To the place of the orchard of apples I came, 

And I sought for one apple-tree fair — 
My favorite tree, and called by my name — 

But alas ! not a vestige was there ; 
The trees which my father had planted were gone — 

Perhaps they had died long ago — 
But others, and larger ones, grew further on. 

Where the spring and the rivulets flow. 

I came to the spring, and still, as of old. 

It flowed with a murmuring rill; 
And I bowed me to drink of that fountain so cold, 

As it came from out of the hill ; 



334 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

And the time and the season came back to my mind 
When my flutter-wheel danced in the stream, 

And the many times since, when in slumbers confined, 
I've returned to that spot in my dream. 

To the site of the school-house I then did repair, 

Where it stood on the rocky hill's brow; 
I sought it in vain, I found it not there, 

But a barn is standing there now ; 
The walnut-tree, too, I remembered so well. 

Which threw on the play-ground its shade, 
Was gone, but an oak is there standing to tell 

Where the children of long ago played. 

In fancy the days of my youth did return, 

I saw my loved playmates again ; 
But reality came with a countenance stern, 

And told me such fancies were vain. 
I never shall see them again, as of yore ; 

In those streamlets they'll never more lave — 
All parted and scattered the western land o'er, 

And many lie low in the grave. 

Ah ! sad, and yet pleasing, it is to come back. 

When our heads are all silvered with gray ; 
To tread once again the old beaten track 

We trod in our childhood's bright day ; 
To meet with kind friends who remember our names, 

Though the face has changed to their view, 
And to kindle again the expiring flames 

Of friendship, devoted and true. 

Not wholly alone I found myself there ; 

For some few of my kindred remain — 
Some school-mates and friends, whose' welcomings were 

A solace for much of my pain ; 
Although so much changed that they knew not my face, 

They remembered me well as of yore. 
Could speak of the time, and could tell me the place 

Where last they had seen me before. 



FORTY YEARS AGO. 335 

And now back at home — my far western home — 

My thoughts will revert to those scenes, 
And, waking or sleeping, my fancy will roam 

Away back to the years of my teens — 
And to those of my friends and acquaintances too. 

Who gave me a welcome so kind ; 
And whether my days shall be many or few, 

To the end I will bear them in mind. 



FORTY YEARS AGO— NOW AND THEN; OR, 
THE OLD MAN'S RETURN 10 THE 
HOME OF HIS YOUTH. 



Written to William Sharp, an old school-mate, after the visit mentioned 
in the last poem. 

Fain would I write to you, dear friend, 

A letter frank and free — 
I've lately been to our old home. 

Away in Tennessee ; 
I've been to the old place, dear Bill, 

Where we in childhood dwelt, 
But, oh ! I cannot tell 3'ou all 

Of what I saw and felt. 

I walked the valley up and down, 

I crossed the ridges o'er, 
And stood where we so oft have stood 

Upon the river's shore ; 
Oh ! great have been the changes there — 

Some spots I scarce could know. 
While others seemed almost the same 

As forty years ago, 

I came to where your father dwelt 

When we were boys, dear Bill ; 
To where the old log house then stood. 

Upon the sloping hill ; 



336 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

That old log house has gone long since — 

I know not when or how- — 
But down below the spring there stands 

A large brick mansion now. 

They say your brother built it there; 

But he has moved away, 
And thos'e you never saw, dear friend, 

Are living there to-day. 
The trees that shaded that old house 

I saw had fallen too, 
And scarce an apple-tree was left 

Where once the orchard grew. 

A little further down the stream. 

And near the public road, 
The place you well remember yet. 

Where / in youth abode — 
'Twas there my father's cabin stood. 

In life's bright early morn ; 
'Twas there my infant years were passed- 

'Twas there that I was born. 

And after all the changing scenes 

Of all the changing years, 
I see the same old farm again. 

But different it appears; 
The old log house is standing where 

My father built it, still; 
Your sister now is living there — 

Your sister Mary Hill. 

I stood in that old house again, 

As oft before I'd done. 
But there were none to greet me there — 

Of kindred — no, not one ! 
And those who knew me when, a boy, 

I played barefooted there, 
All failed to recognize the man. 

So old, with silver hair. 



FORTY YEARS AGO. 337 

Time, in its flight, had changed the place — 

I too had changed, dear Bill — 
But many a spot to memory dear 

I found remaining still; 
The spring was flowing from the hill 

As in the days of yore, 
But trees were growing round it then 

I ne'er had seen before. 

The old brick chimney stands there yet — 

Two stories high, you know; 
Its every brick I molded, Bill, 

Full forty years ago; 
But of the many men and boys, 

Those boys with sunny brow. 
Who toiled with me in making them — 

Not one is living now. 

They all are dead and in their graves. 

One after one they died; 
Far, far apart some of them sleep. 

And some lie side by side; 
Two thousand miles and more away 

Some sleep in graves unknown. 
While I, with locks now thin and gray, 

Am left alone — alone! 

Across the streamlet, on the hillj 

Between our homes, you know. 
The little school-house stood, dear Bill,. 

A good long while ago; 
'Twas there, when little boys at school. 

We learned our ABC, 
And studied Webster's old blue book — 

Few other books had we. 

Besides the rough-hewn writing bench, 

How often, side by side. 
We sat, and made our pot-hooks there. 

And read "John Gilpin's Ride";* 



<'Cowper's poem of John Gilpin, as found in the old school-book, "Scott's 
Lessons." 

-aa- 



338 RURAI, RHYMBS AND OLDEN TIMES. 

But after "twice ten tedious years," 

And double that had fled, 
Far faster, far, than Gilpin rode, 

Back to that spot I sped. 

And there I stood alone, dear Bill, 

Upon the old play-ground; 
Not one of all our playmates dear 

Upon that spot was found; 
I saw them not beside the brook, 

Nor on the cedar glade, 
But some of their grandchildren small 

Were playing where we played. 

And thus it was ; — place after place 

I visited, and found 
That time had changed each cherished spot 

Of memory's hallowed ground ; 
I came to where my grandsire dwelt 

In days and years long gone. 
Hard by the old mill-stream, you know, 

Which still was flowing on. 

The mill was standing where it did; 

The sound of grinding low 
Fell on my listening ears again 

As forty years ago;* 
The old house, too, my grandsire built, 

In days ere I was born. 
Was standing as it stood of yore. 

But looking more forlorn. 

How oft I've met my cousins dear 

At grandma's house to play; 
How often, in the orchard there. 

We passed our holiday ! 
But now those orchard-trees are gone— 

The old catalpas, too ;t 
And gone are all the pleasant shades 

Their leafy branches threw. 



*See "Fan of the Old MiU." 
fThe shade-trees in the yard. 



FORTY YEARS AGO. 339 

I trod the gravel yard again, 

I viewed the landscape o'er, 
And many an object than I saw 

That I had seen before; 
Upon the weather-beaten wall, 

Though now somewhat decayed, 
I saw the many, many marks 

Our arrow-spikes had made. 

Oh ! these were sad mementoes. Bill, 

Of long-departed joys — 
'Twas sad to think how few are left 

Of these light-hearted boys ; 
To think that they, those few, like me, 

Are now gray-headed men — 
To think of all the "ups" and "down" 

That we have seen since then. 

The old log meeting-house, you know. 

Built in the woodland wild, 
Where first I heard the gospel preached, 

When I was but a child — 
I came to that old church again. 

And worshipers were there ; 
Not those we used to see there. Bill, 

But faces strange they were. 

I heard the voice of prayer and praise, 

To God, the great Triune ; 
I heard them sing the same old song, 

And to the same old tune ; 
You may have sung that tune, dear Bill — 

The song you've heard, I know; 
"I am a stranger," so it ran, 

"A stranger here below." 

And as they sang, I felt, indeed 

The force of that sad word — 
A stranger in my native place, 

Where first that hymn I heard ! 



340 RURAL RHYMBS AND OI.DEN TIMES. 

And as I listened to the song 
(My eyes were dimmed I know), 

I thought I saw the friends of old, 
Who sang it long ago. 

But that was all illusion, Bill — ■ 

I walked the grave-yard through, 
And there they were, those friends of old, 

But hidden from my view; 
That grave-yard. Bill, is larger now 

Then when you saw it last — 
Alas ! those cities of the dead 

Are populating fast. 

There side by side, my kindred lie ; 

Your kindred lie there too — 
I saw your father's grave, dear Bill, 

And well that grave I knew; 
The plain head-stone is standing yet — 

A limestone large, you know ; 
I saw it placed above that grave 

O'er forty 3'ears ago. 

Another well-remembered spot 

I visited, dear Bill — 
'Twas where my aunt Tabitha dwelt. 

Hard by the rippling rill ; 
Where I and her dear children oft 

Have sported through the day, 
And with our games of "fox and goose" 

Passed hours of night awa)'. 

Ah ! well do I remember. Bill, 

Those boys and girls of yore — 
Perhaps you, too, remember them, 

Though some are now no more ; 
Oh, yes — for now I think of it — 

Full well, my friend, I know 
You married one of those dear girls 

Near forty years ago. 



FORTY YEARS AGO. 34 1 

Now tell my cousin Betsy, Bill, 

(Your wife I might have said) 
That late I passed those plaj'-grounds o'er 

Where we together played ; 
Her father, and her mother too, 

I learn, had long been dead ; 
But one dear brother still resides 

Upon the old homestead. 

That mansion house is standing yet, 

The old log kitchen too; 
The smoke-house stands just as it did, 

The orchard where it grew; 
The stables, too, across the road, 

Upon the level plat — 
No place I saw had undergone 

So little change as that. 

I slept in that old house again, 

Within that little room. 
Where you (if I remember well) 

Slept when a gay bridegroom ; 
And as I lay reflecting there, 

I heard the light footfall 
Of Time, as measured by the clock 

Which ticked against the wall;* 

The same old Kli Terry clock — 

That wooden clock, you know — 
The one my uncle George first bought, 

A long, long while ago; 
And as its measured steps I heard. 

They seemed to speak or chime: 
"For fifty years, or nearly so, 

I've told the flight of time." 



*A letter received by the author from the cousin occupying- that house, 
Hon. Rice Snodderly, on the loth of Maty, 1882, has the following : "As I 
write, I am sitting m the same room you mention in your poem, and can 
hear the tick of the same old Eli Terry clock, apparently as good as ever." 



342 RURAL RHYMES AND OIvDElN TIMES. 

How lightly fall the steps of Time ! 

And yet what changes great 
They've made since you and I, dear Bill, 

First left our native State ; 
And should you ever go back there, 

To the old place again, 
You'll find, dear friend, a contrast great 

Between the now and the7i. 



THE OLD-FASHIONED PREACHER. 



Written to accompany a reminiscence of EJlder J[oab Powell, published in the 

Christian Repository, April, 1875. 

How often it is, as in church I am sitting, 

My mind wanders back to the days of my youth, 
And faces and forms before me are flitting. 

Of those who then preached the plain gospel of truth ; 
In fancy I see the good, pious old teacher 

Who urged me the way of salvation to know, 
The plain, honest face of the pioneer preacher. 

Who preached on the border a long time ago ; 
The plain, simple preacher, the good, honest preacher, 

The old-fashioned preacher, of long time ago. 

That old-fashioned preacher — I'll never forget him, 

But will ever remember his kindness to me ; 
Full well I remember the first time I met him. 

When I was a boy, in East Tennessee ; 
But now I am old, many years have passed o'er me. 

And he is asleep on a far distant shore ; 
But often, in fancy, I see him before me 

As I saw him in youth, in the good'days of yore. 
The same honest preacher, the same fearless preacher, 

The old-fashioned preacher, who preaches no more. 



THE OIvD-FASHIONED PREACHER. 343 

How often I think of his true self-denial, 

And often contrast him with men of to-day ; 
Through heat and through cold, though great was the trial, 

He toiled in the vineyard— not asking for pay ; 
The widow, the orphan, the poor, and the needy. 

In sickness and sorrow, had reason to know, 
In all their afflictions, that none were so speedy 

Relief and assistance on them to bestow 
As the plain, earnest preacher, the good Baptist preacher, 

The old-fashioned preacher, of long time ago. 

But few of those old-fashioned preachers yet linger, 

But few now remain; and those few are ignored 
For men of more learning, and Scorn with her finger 

Oft points at the men who so much have endured ; 
More talented men are the bread of life breaking, 

And their words of instruction more fluently flow ; 
But are they more useful or more sin-forsaking 

Than the ignorant preacher of long time ago — 
The plain, humble preacher, the well-meaning preacher. 

The old-fashioned preacher, of long time ago? 

When now, on the Sabbath, the old church I visit — 

Where his plain admonitions no longer I hear — 
'Tis strange, very strange — can you tell me why is it . 

His words to my mind will so often occur? 
While eloquent men, in language quite burning. 

Are preaching the gospel of peace and of truth. 
My mind is so vagrant it still will be turning 

To the old-fashioned preacher I heard in my youth. 
The plain, gospel preacher, the pioneer preacher, 

The old-fashioned preacher, I heard in my youth. 

'Tis said that the age and the world are progressing, 
That old-fashioned preachers are needed no more; 

That men of more learning, more knowledge possessing. 
Must now take the places of those gone before ; 



344 RURAI, RHYMKS AND OIvDEjN TIMEJS. 

Ah well ! with the world I must not be contending— 
Perhaps it is so; but there's one thing I know : 

While the greatest D.D.'s are their tenets defending, 
I think of the preacher of long time ago, 

That ignorant preacher, the plain simple preacher, 
The old-fashioned preacher, of long, long ago. 



THE EARLY SETTLERS. 



The early settlers — where are they? 

They are falling one by one; 
A few more years may pass away, 

And leave but few or none. 

My memory often hurries me 

Back o'er a lapse of years, 
And in my dreams I sometimes see 

Those hardy pioneers. 

But they are gone, those sturdy men. 

And few are left to tell 
The hardships they encountered when 

They first came here to dwell. 

A few gray-headed ones still link 

The present to the past; 
And sad it is for me to think 

That I'm almost the last. 

Now in my wanderings to and. fro, 
Through prairie, field, and wood, 

I pass the spots where long ago 
Their rude log cabins stood*. 

I see them not as once they were — 
Scarce one of them remains — 

Perhaps a stable here and there. 
Bleached by a thousand rains. 



the; e;arly se;tti.ers. 345 

Quite rude those habitations were, 

And "few and far between"; 
Some stood upon the prairies fair, 

And some in groves of green. 

But now a mound of stone and earth, 

The site of homes bereft, 
Tells where was once the blazing hearth — • 

And that is all that's left. 

Those earl}- settlers — where are they? 

I miss them more and more ; 
Each year, when it has passed away, 

Leaves fewer than before. 

Like leaves of autumn from the trees, 

They're falling one by one ; 
And soon will Death's cold, wintry breeze 

Remove the last, last one ! 

When I to church now sometimes go, 

Their seats are vacant there ; 
I miss them — they are gone I know. 

But where? O tell me where! 

Some in the East, some in the West, 

Are buffeting life's waves ; 
But far the greatest number rest 

Low in their silent graves. 

And when I meet one of the few 

Who still are lingering here. 
Like brother or like sister true 

Seems that old pioneer. 

The past, the buried past returns, 

We live it o'er again 
In speaking of the world's concerns, 

So diflFerent now from then. 



346 RURAI, RHYMES AND OI.DKN TIMES. 

Ye settlers of the western wild, 
Though few may here remain, 

Ye have not labored here and toiled 
And spent your lives in vain. 

Another race of men may fill 
The places you have filled. 

And other hands those fields may till. 
Which you have cleared and tilled. 

But when ye all have passed away — 
The last old settler gone — 

Your deeds will yet survive, for they 
In living lines are drawn. 

Those lines which you have written fair 

Can never be effaced ; 
You leave the country smiling where 

You found it wild and waste. 



THE CONTRAST. 



Written after attending- the Farmers' or Grangers' Pic-nic at r,one Jack, 
on the eleventh anniversary of the battle at that place, August 16, 1862. 

In eighteen hundred and sixty-two — 

Amid confusion's rattle — 
I came to where the Gray and Blue 

Had lately met in battle ; 
And there, beside a lonely tree, 

Upon the rolling prairie, 
The dead were laid promiscuously — 

The wounded faint and weary. 

I came again, and stood upon 

The ground where they contended — 

Kleven years had come and gone, 
Those years of strife had ended ; 



i 



THE CONTRAST. 347 

And then I saw a different scene, 

A scene by far more pleasant — 
A thonsand men upon the green, 

A thousand ladies present. 

Where, just eleven years before, 

The storm of war tempestive 
Had swept the little village o'er. 

All now was gay and festive ; 
The music floated on the air 

lyike water o'er the pebbles ; 
The men who wore the blue were there, 

And those who fought with rebels. 

The sun, upon that August day, 

lyooked down from heaven smiling 
To see the Blue, to see the Gray 

The happy hours beguiling ; 
For, hand in hand, I saw them go 

To eat the basket-dinner, 
For which I thanked the lyord, although 

Unworthy and a sinner. 

But though the storm of war had passed — 

Its thunder roared no longer — 
Another storm was gathering fast. 

The breeze was blowing stronger ; 
I saw within that festive crowd 

Full many a hardy yeoman. 
With independent thought endowed 

And stern as any Roman. 

'Twas then I saw the husbandmen 

(The sons of toil and labor. 
Whose motto is "Do justice when 

You deal with friend and neighbor ") 
Contending 'gainst the giant wrong, 

As with a sling and pebbles — 
The Union soldiers marched along. 

Beside secession rebels. 



1 



348 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

Not braver than those farmers bold 

The heroes of Thermopylae — 
While loud and deep the murmur rolled, 

" Down, down with all monopoly; 
We've put our hands unto the plow — 

We do not mean disruption — 
But pause and stand from under now, 

Ye minions of corruption ! " 

They come, they come, they're filing by— 

The arm)' of the Grangers — 
While scheming politicians cry, 

"These men our craft endanger! " 
I saw them marshaling their ranks. 

More numerous than the pebbles ; 
Within them stood the loyal Yanks, 

And there were royal rebels. 

And as they moved with measured tread. 

Their step was firm and steady — 
A mighty conflict just ahead. 

But not a conflict bloody ; 
Unlike the one that dyed the ground 

Around the tree so lonely, 
Eleven years before — I found 

That this was peaceful only. 

Instead of cries of agony 

From soldiers sorely wounded. 
The sound of mirth and revelry 

On every side abounded; 
And where the/eds and reds erewhile 

Had met and fought as strangers, 
They met in quite another style — 

As friends and brother Grangers. 



ADDRESS TO THE GRANGERS. 349 

ADDRESS TO THE GRANGERS. 



Written for the occasion, and read before the L,one Jack Grange at the 
Annual Festival, December 4, 1873. 

When Patrons of Husbandry meet and unite 

To consult and to work for the good of the Grange, 
Fain would I be there and contribute my mite, 

And socially join in the thought interchange; 
To speak of the comforts of home, and to plan 

Attractions that lend an additional charm ; 
For nothing will bring more comfort to man 

Than a well-ordered home on a well-ordered farm. 

The minions of wealth, who in luxury roll, 

Disdainfully look on the husbandman's toil, 
But the wealth which the nabobs amass and control 

By the hand of the farmer is dug from the soil; 
By his hand and his labor Earth's millions are fed ; 

And how would Earth's millions grow pale with alarm 
If the husbandman ever should cease to make bread 

And the other good things that are grown on the farm ! 

If there is a class possessed of more worth 

Than all other classes of men when combined, 
'Tis the class of producers, who bring from the earth 

The treasures of wealth that are therein confined ; 
And if there's a man independent and free, 

Depending alone on the Almighty arm — 
The arm of Jehovah, who made him — 'tis he 

Who enjoys the comforts of life on a farm. 

Where, where is that man on a farm who was reared — ■ 

In the North or the South, it matters not where — 
Though to other pursuits his life is now squared. 

Who, in thought, is not oftentimes carried back there; 
Though in other pursuits for a time he engage. 

And success for a time may lend them a charm. 
He'll never forget, though he live to old age, 

The pleasures he saw in his youth on a farm. 



350 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TlMEv'5. 

Although by the farmer the world has been fed, 

Upheld, and supported for six thousand years, 
He's opposed by a class with a stealthy-like tread, 

And cruelly swindled by base financiers ; 
That great moneyed power which companies wield 

For their profit alone, and the husbandman's harm, 
Possesses itself of the fruits of his field. 

And afterwards pockets the whole of his farm. 

Monopolies here and monopolies there. 

They're growing and spreading on every hand; 
Ye sons and ye daughters of labor, prepare 

That great moneyed power at once to withstand ; 
Stand firmly together, your forces unite. 

And shoulder to shoulder, and arm within arm, 
Press onward and forward — contend for the right 

To live and enjoy the fruit of the farm ! 

Beware of corruption, of traitors beware — 

Be vigilant, watchful, and on the alert; 
Our foes are awake and abroad everywhere — 

They strike in the dark, and the farmer is hurt; 
Too long have we bowed to the sly, subtle power. 

Too long have been led by the Siren-like charm ; 
lyCt them look for the day, let them wait for the hour. 

When the yeomanry comes in his strength from the 
farm ! 

Corruption and bribery have entered the hall 

Where State legislators and congressmen meet, 1 

And sad is the sight when our law-makers fall | 

And worship the gold that is laid at their feet; I 

Their trust is betrayed, and our interests are sold — | 

They feeling but little dread or alarm. | 

But the days of their power are numbered and told ; f 

They'll never be trusted again on the farm. .| 

I 
The sly politician who sells us for once | 

(Though little compunction of conscience he feels) f 

Will find that the farmer is not such a dunce t 

As not to remember back- salary steals; r 



I 



LETTER TO AN EDITOR. 35 1 

And he who has voted to double our tax, 
And put shackles of debt upon every arm, 

And make us pay gold in the place of greenbacks, 
Need never claim kin with the sons of the farm. 

And now, brother farmers, let's firmly unite — 

In wrangling together too long have we dwelt — 
If united as one we contend for the right. 

We'll soon be a power on earth that is felt; 
Already monopolies, far away, see 

This rising of farmers and feel the alarm 
That when from their meshes the farmer gets free, 

They'll no longer swindle him out of his farm. 



LETTER TO AN EDITOR. 



Written to the editor of the Knoxville (Tenn.) Chronicle in 1S73. 

When your paper comes to hand. 
Its columns eagerly are scanned; 
I look it o'er and o'er to see 
Those notes about East Tennessee — 

Tennessee ! East Tennessee ! 
The dearest spot on earth to me 
(With gushing springs and gliding rills) 
Is hid amongst those verdant hills ! 

'Twas there in days long passed away, 

My eyes first opened on the day; 

'Twas there my happiest years were passed- 

Alas ! too happy long to last ; 

And now since years have come and gone, 

Here in a distant land alone. 

By fancy's eyes I often see 

Those misty hills of Tennessee. 

'Twas in life's morning, bright and fair, 

1 left the little streamlet there, 

And with ambitious views possessed. 
My steps were bent toward the West; 



352 RURAI, RHYMES AND OLDKN TIMES. 

Since then what changes have I seen, 
In youth and age and all between ! 
A checkered scene of toil and care, 
With transient pleasures here and there. 

But still, in every lane of life. 

In joy and sorrow, peace and strife. 

My thoughts would turn, and turning, go 

Back to the scenes of long ago ; 

Back to the little streamlet where 

The minnows played when I was there — 

Those pebbly streams I seem to see. 

Amongst the hills of Tennessee. 

And when your paper I peruse, 
'Tis not so much for general news 
As 'tis that I, perchance, may trace 
The name of some familiar place 
Connected with the olden time, 
'Ere I had left that genial clime; 
Or else that I may there behold 
The name of some dear friend of old. 

A few old friends still there remain — 
Some friends I ne'er may see again; 
But they, perhaps, remember not 
My name, nor e'er bestow a thought 
On me, or on those days of yore. 
Those days which can return no more ; 
But though they may not think of me, 
I think of them and Tennessee. 

Toward that dear spot my heart has yearned, 

But only once have I returned — 

Once, only once, since thirty-three. 

Have I been there, that spot to see; 

When eight and thirty years had passed, 

And age was creeping o'er me fast, 

I came to that old place again, 

But found a change in things and men. 



IvETTER TO AN EDITOR. 353 

'Tis not my purpose now to trace 
My wanderings from place to place, 
Nor will I speak of the contrast 
Between the present and the past ; 
Those matters I shall not rehearse — 
I've written them in other verse,* 
From which, if you will read, you'll see 
I'm wedded j^et to Tennessee. 

But when I came to Knoxville, where 
Your paper's published, I declare — 
When our conductor called the name — 
I scarce could think it was the same. 
So many changes there I found. 
And everything seemed turned around— 
The streets of Cumberland and Gay 
Seemed running the contrary way. 

And then the town had grown up so — 
The railroad, too, and its depot 
Had all been built since I was there; 
Which made the city look so queer 
That if I saw a single spot 
I e'er had seen, I knew it not ; 
Within a crowd I seemed alone, 
Unknowing all and all unknown. 

That town, which first in life I'd seen. 
Had still been kept in memory green ; 
In memory's eye the same it seemed, 
And oftentimes in sleep I dreamed 
That I was there, a boy again, 
With heart as light as it was when 
I first came there, o'er hill and dale. 
With forty pounds of rags for sale. 

But when I sought to find the place 
Where then I sold them, not a trace 
Of that store-house, with painted sign, 
Where*Roberts sold in twenty-nine, 



' FortyjYears" Ago. " 
—23— 



354 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

Could I perceive in seventy-one ; 

'Twas gone — the sign "Roberts & Sons"; 

But old men in the neighborhood 

May tell you where that store-house stood. 

Those old men, too, remember yet 
Some things that I cannot forget: 
Election day was drawing nigh, 
And Jackson was the battle-cry; 
Tom Arnold bold and Pryor I^ea 
Were candidates, and wished to be 
Elected into Congress then. 
And both were noisy, talking men; 
So such a war of words was heard 
As ne'er before the pool had stirred. 

They both were willing, anxious too, 
To serve a Congress term or two. 
And serve for eighty dimes a day 
Without the back or extra pay; 
But times have changed — they have, indeed 
The more we get the more we need; 
But now I'm getting off the track, 
I'll check myself and hurry back. 

'Twas there, in thirty-one, I guess. 

That first I saw a printing press. 

And strong the impulse seized me then 

To be one of the printer men ; 

And one, perhaps, I might have been, 

But Heiskell would not take me in — 

For Heiskell was a printer, sir, 

And edited the Register. 

Perhaps, for me, 'twas for the best — 
We're oft by disappointment blessed; 
Had I succeeded in my plan, 
I might have been a congressman; 



LETTER TO AN EDITOR. 355 

Perhaps I might have been returned 
Unto the Congress just adjourned, 
And seeing what they have to bear, 
I'm glad, indeed, I was not there. 

And now, dear editor, so kind, 
I hope these items I shall find 
Within your paper, more and more ; 
And as I read its columns o'er. 
They'll carry me in fancy back 
To tread the old familiar track, 
Across the hill, across the vale, 
Across the streams which never fail. 
And there to tread the forest through. 
Where chinquapins and chestnuts grew, 
And where my voice in boyhood rang, 
From hill to hill, when digging 'sang.* 

But I must bid you now adieu — 
Too long, I fear, I've troubled you ; 
But if too long, pray do not frown — 
Just send it back, or boil it down ; 
And should you meet a friend of mine. 
Just say to him, a friendly line 
Directed to his friend, M. R., 
Will make me happier by far. 



■■'Ginsengf, a smaU root, which was then worth about 25 cents per pound. 



356 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

THE EXODUS OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-THREE; 
OR, ORDER NUMBER ELEVEN 



To those living in Western Missouri, tliis poem needs no explanation; 
and to those not conversant with the facts, it is only necessary to say that 
during the great civil war between the Northern and Southern States, Gen. 
Thomas Ewing, on the 25th of August, 1S63, issued an order called "No. 11," 
commanding and requiring all the citizens of certain counties in Missouri to 
vacate their homes within fifteen days ; those who could prove their loyalty 
being permitted to remove into the military posts or to certain parts of 
Kansas — all others to remove from his district, which included the State of 
Kansas and the two western tiers of counties in Missouri. In consequence of 
this order, by the loth of Septenaber the country was depopulated, except at 
or immediately near the garrisoned towns or posts. 

The book of Exodus you've read — 

That march across the parted sea, 
When Israel, by Moses led, 

Went from Egyptian bondage free; 
But some there be who never heard 

Of that exode in sixty-three, 
The incidents that then occurred. 

Or how or why it came to be. 

While some remember, some have read. 

And some have heard of "Order Eleven," 
When thousands into exile fled. 

And thousands from their homes were driven. 
Then wake, my muse — my memory, wake, 

Relate that story, sad and true ; 
Set nothing down for malice' sake. 

Nor with extenuating view — 
Impartially the tale relate. 

Its incidents of grief detail ; 
Those incidents we'll ne'er forget 

Till life with memory shall fail. 

Two 5^ears and more the war had raged — 

The war was raging wildly still — 
And madly was that warfare waged 

Through summer's heat and winter's chill; 
The North and South alike contend. 

With equal ardor, equal zeal. 
While varying fates to each portend 

Alternate woe, alternate weal. 




'THE OLD FASHIONED PREACHER. 
See page 357. 



THE EXODUS OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY -THREE. 357 

The cloud which rose in "sixty-one," 

The dark and stormy cloud of war, 
Had darker grown, till moon and sun 

Were hid, and hidden every star ; 
The howling storm tempestuous roared. 

And lightnings flashed from crest to crest, 
While chiefly were its torrents poured 

Upon the suffering South and West. 

Missouri's western border lay 

In that tornado's wasting path, 
And near the Kansas line for aye 

It fell in all its greatest wrath ; 
'Twas there the cruelties of war 

In broader, deeper currents run — 
'Twas brother 'gainst the brother there. 

And father ranged against the son. 

Though by the Union soldiers bold 

The posts and garrisons were held, 
The many guerrilla bandits told 

The rebel spirit still unquelled ; 
And night and day those reckless men 

Were found marauding here and there, 
And watching for the soldiers then. 

Bushwhacked and fought them everywhere, 
Till Quantrell, Todd, and Anderson, 

And others such as they, became 
A terror unto many a one 

Who still maintained a loyal fame. 

'Twas said (I do not know how true ; 

But, true or false, the charge was made) 
That citizens — and not a few — 

Were leagued with them, and gave them aid; 
And when the soldiers failed entire 

To find or capture such a band. 
They often wreaked their vengeance dire 

Upon some farmer of the land; 



358 RURAIv RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

And this, however much we blame, 
Retaliating vengeance drew, 

And citizens of loyal fame 

In turn were made to suffer too, 

Then as the contest fiercer grew, 

And Time still rolled his car along, 
Those bold marauders bolder grew, 

And greater grew the mighty wrong. 
Until those deeds of blood and sin, 

In August, eighteen sixty-three, 
Most sadly culminated in 

The bloody Lawrence massacre. - 

I need not tell that story dread — 

The world, I deem, has known it long- 
But simply state to what it led. 

Another grievous, cruel wrong: 
The agents of the Government 

Had many a time and oft proclaimed 
That all should suffer banishment 

Who aided those fierce bandits named; 
And oftentime did they declare 

In bitter language, far from chaste. 
That, if those guerrillas harbored there, 

They'd lay the rebel region waste. 

Then, when the raid on I^awrence came 

And it was known and told afar. 
That those guerrillas known to fame 

Came from the hills of Sni-a-bar ; 
When it was said by hundreds then 

(Although it might not all be true). 
That Jackson County long had been 

Their haunt and general rendezvous ; 
That other neighboring counties, too, 

Contributed their sons to swell 
The numbers of that bandit crew, 

And other bandit crews as well, — 



i 



THE EXODUS OP EIGHTEEN SIXTY-THREE. 359 

It is a truth, 110 sooner had 

That raid by Quantre'll's men been made, 
Than forthwith came that order sad, 

Long threatened and till then delayed. 

Ah, stern and cruel that decree! 

And oh, how cruel were the Fates 
To those whose dwellings chanced to be 

In Jackson County, Cass, or Bates! 
Those three ill-fated counties view. 

Which once had been so fair and fine — 
The northern part of Vernon, too, 

All bordering on the Kansas line ; 
Those counties which, ere war had spread 

Its cruelties so far and wide, 
Were famed abroad, and which were said 

To be Missouri's western pride. 

But now this Kden of the West, 

Which smiled in plenteous beauty's bloom, 
Was by this martial order dressed 

In desolation and in gloom; 
And citizens, howe'er they grieve. 

Of every sex, of every age, 
Were given but fifteen days to leave — 

Ah, dark that dark historic page ! 
To leave their homes — each cherished home — 

Those homes which gave to some their birth, 
And homeless wanderers to roam 

Upon a sin and blood stained earth ! 

Ah, hard the trial, hard indeed — 

How well it is remembered yet! 
For those who wandered then in need 

Those suffering scenes will ne'er forget. 
'Twas hard upon her loyal sons. 

Who still the Union dearly prized — 
'Twas harder on disloyal ones, 

Who with the South had sympathized ; 



360 RURAI, RHYMES AND OIvDEN TIMES. 

But loyal and disloyal too 

Were, by the order called Eleven, 

Compelled to bid their homes adieu — 
Alike were they in exile driven. 

ris true 'twas said in that decree, 

That they who certainly could prove 
A well-established loyalty 

Might to the garrison remove — 
Then some who loyalty did boast. 

And some who truly loyal were. 
Repaired unto the nearest post, 

To live and be protected there. 

'Twas small protection they received ; 

The most that they of that could boast — 
Enrolled as guards, they then relieved 

The soldiers stationed at the post. 
But far the greater number who 

Dwelt in that region doomed to waste 
Got them from home and country too- - 

Perhaps to be no more possessed ; 
A sinking heart in every breast. 

In all directions then they moved — 
Toward the North, South, East, and West, 

As stern necessity behooved. 
Sad was the spectacle to see. 

And sad and sorrowful the scenes 
Of thousands forced from home to flee. 

And yet without the needful means. 

The hand of War and Theft, it seems. 

Before had spoiled and shorn the land, 
And only then the poorest teams 

And carriages were at command- 
Yea, some there were with none at all ; 

And they, though destitute, must go — 
What greater hardships could befall. 

Or be to them a heavier blow? 



THE EXODUS OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-THREE. 36 1 

The widow and the orphan small, 

The aged, infirm, the sick, the frail, 
Without a friend on whom to call, 

Whose sympathy could then avail ! 
The time was short — those days fifteen 

Were passing rapidly away, 
Within which time, as has been seen. 

All must that order well obey. 

The needful preparations then 

By night and day were hurried on — 
No Sabbath rest, no Sabbath when 

All peace, all quietude had gone ; 
Sleep from the eyelids fled away, 

The mind, in tossing to and fro, 
Still asked the question night and day, 

"O whither, whither shall I go?" 

O how did grief and pain abound 

Through those September nights and days, 
When weary wanderers were found 

On all the roads and public ways. 
On every hand, on every side ! 

On every road which outward led 
Was seen the slowly moving tide 

Of those who from that region fled ; 
Through clouds of dust or burning sand. 

Their weary way they wended slow, 
Away from their dear native land, 

Or homes adopted long ago. 

The staunch old settlers of the West, 

The hardy, gray-haired pioneers. 
Who here had lived, and here had passed 

Their many laboring, toiling years ; 
The men who, thirty years before. 

Had come into the western wild. 
And through whose labors, more and more, 

The wilderness had bloomed and smiled, 



362 RURAI. RHYMES AND OI.DEN TIMES. 

Were sundering now the cherished tie 

That bound them to those homes so dear- 
More dear, as now fond memory's eye 
I^ooks back o'er many a by-gone year. 

They who had seen in wild alarms 

This land, so wild and waste at first, 
Turned into fair and fruitful farms, 

Ere war the land had stained and cursed ; 
They who had seen, by slow degrees. 

Their numbers, once so small, increase, 
And who with neighbors kind to please 

Had lived in harmony and peace — 
They and those neighbors now dispersed, 

All gone, all banished — every one — 
The work of thirty years reversed. 

And in a fortnight all undone ! 
That country full of golden grain, 

So lately full of flocks and herds — 
A solitary waste again. 

Given up to waste, to beasts and birds ! 
Oh ! could the hand a picture draw. 

Or could the eye but view the whole. 
And see, as the Omniscient saw. 

The anguish of each stricken soul ; 
Or see each mournful incident — 

The suffering scenes of sorrow, too, 
When those thus doomed to banishment 

Bade home and friends a long adieu, 
It would have moved a stony heart 

To sympathize with those who wept. 
Or envy those who, ere the smart. 

In death's cold, lasting sleep had slept! 

But human tongue can ne'er repeat. 

No human mind can ever know 
Or comprehend the aggregate 

Of such accumulated woe 
As then descended, like a flood. 

To whelm the stricken souls with grief — 
The souls that manfully withstood 

The storms of sorrow past belief. 



the; exodus of eighteen sixty-three. 363 

But though no one has seen it all, 

Full many a one has seen his part, 
And dark and heavily the pall 

Of sorrows pressed on many a heart. 

The mother — oh ! that mother view. 

Whose heart with anguish keen is riven ! 
Far distant then her husband true, 

And she and hers in exile driven ; 
She and her little ones must roam — 

No shelter on the broad green earth — 
Their backs are turned upon the home 

That gave those little children birth. 
How ill prepared, alas, are they 

To move upon the rugged road ! 
No safe convej-^ance to convey 

Her children from that dear abode — 
Naught but an old and worn-out cart, 

Without a bed or box to hold 
Her household goods or any part. 

Or children dearer yet than gold; 
The wheels, the shafts, and axle-tree 

Were all that then remained of it ; 
And as for harness, scarce could she 

A single trace of harness get ; 
No covering sheet to shelter them 

From sun and from inclement skies ; 
A hope forlorn that cart did seem 

To all but the most trusting eyes. 
Their clothing, bed, and other things 

Were in a bundle firmly bound, 
Then fastened on the cart with strings 

And ropes that passed them all around. 
Her jewels then, the dearest yet, 

The children of her love and pride, 
Upon the package there she set. 

And took her station by their side; 
Then guiding still, and urging on 

The Horse so old, so service-worn, 



364 RURAI, RHYMES AND OI.DKN TIMES. 

She wept, as they from home were drawn, 
With no fond hopes of a return; 

How dark and deep was that abyss 

Of grief and woe no tongue can tell — 

With others deeper yet than this. 
On which it pains the heart to dwell. 

'Tis true, to such hard straits of need 

Not all, thank Heaven! were then reduced; 
But others worse than this indeed 

Might then have been and were produced — 
Yes, there were widows, poor and lone, 

Of earthly friends and help bereft. 
Alone, in the cold world alone, 

With no protecting refuge left. 
Or with dependent daughters there — 

What sadder sight to see than they ? 
Not even a horse or cart to bear 

Their little all of goods away. 
And as they sought some poor abode, 

Beyond that region desolate, 
They walked the dusty, crowded road. 

With faltering steps and feeble gait; 
That road with wearied steps they tread. 

Their feet now bare and worn and sore — 
A cow, perhaps, behind them led, 

Or driven slowly on before ; 
A bundle small — 'tis all they now 

Have strength to bear away from hence — 
Another bound upon the cow, 

Their choice effects the small contents. 

'Twas thus, in eighteen sixty-three, 

When driven from their cherished home. 
The people of those counties three 

As exiles then were forced to roam; 
Though sharp and poignant was the sting. 

They yielded to the cruel Fates ; 
Some went to counties neighboring. 

While others went to distant States — 



THE EXODUS OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-THREE. 365 

The fruits of toil, the work of taste, 
As might in truth be well supposed, 

B)^ them abandoned in their haste — 
All, all to ruin left exposed ! 

Their houses, farms, and orchards, then, 

With many a dear memento graced, 
The harvested and growing grain 

Were left to spoil or go to waste — 
The cherished spots, the peaceful bowers. 

Where infancy had passed away. 
The garden and its blooming flowers 

Were left to wither and decay! 
Domestic fowls, domestic brutes, 

Of many a favorite breed and kind. 
The vineyard and its luscious fruits — 

All these, and more, were left behind; 
Yes, sadder yet — with objects still 

Than those by far, by far more dear. 
Some parted then who never will , 

Those objects see again fore'er. 

Sad memory yet, though many suns 

Have run their rounds, will call to mind 
The da3' when fathers, husbands, sons 

Were to one common grave consigned ; 
When those bereft in anguish deep 
' Were forced to leave their homes, and them 
To sleep in Death's cold, lasting sleep — 
The autumn winds their requiem. 

Yes, memory backward still will tend 

To that September Sabbath day — 
The time was hasting to an end 

When all must leave or disobey; 
By far the greatest part had gone — 

A few remained behind, and those 
Made preparation from the dawn 

To leave before the day should close. 



366- RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

Those families — but few they were — 

By kindred ties together bound, 
Old citizens together there — 

And few more quiet could be found ; 
As preparation still they made 

The cruel mandate to obey, 
A band of soldiers came and bade 

Those men to march with them away, 
A little way, scarce out of sight — 

Their place of execution found ; 
Six of the eight were killed outright, 

And left upon the bloody ground* — 
Ah, sad and sorrowful the scene ! 

Methinks I see it even now : 
A youth, a lad of seventeen, 

With smiles upon his sunny brow, 
A widow's doting son was he, 

Her stay, support, and comfort then — 
Cold, cold in death that son ! and she 

Will see him ne'er on earth again. 
Another man I seem to see, 

Of more than three score years and ten — 
The blood upon his hair of gray. 

As it was witnessed even then ; 
Two other fathers, who had passed 

Their fifty years of life and more ; 
Two younger fathers lifeless cast, 

And weltering in life's purple gore — 
All, all cut down, together slain! 

And, oh ! cut down at such a time — 
The young, the old, and yet again 

The men of vigor in their prime ! 
Their families, grief-stricken now, 

Of loved and cherished ones bereft, 
Compelled to leave their homes — but how ? 

Oh, what of hope or comfort left! 



■-•'This incident occurred on the 6th of September, 1S63; an account ot it 
was published in the Missouri Republican or the nth of the same month 



THE EXODUS OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-THREE. 367 

Their cup of grief seemed full before 

Of bitterness, even to the brink ; 
But now that cup was running o'er, 

And they that bitter draught must drink. 
The floods passed o'er their heads that day 

As wave still follows after wave — 
Scarce help enough had they to lay 

Those loved and lost ones in the grave. 

Let Fancj^'s hand portray the scene, 

And with reality compare: 
The wretched group, with anguish keen, 

Assembled round the fallen there; 
There, hard beside those murdered ones — 

If I may use so harsh a word — 
From widowed wives and orphaned sons 

The wailing notes of grief were heard. 
Imagine now that sire so old, 

Whose grief no balm could sooth or 'suage; 
Three score and fifteen years had told 

His weary, toiling pilgrimage. 
And he, in life's long, devious way, 

Had passed through many a trial sore- 
But in the evening of his day 

A sorer one than e'er before. 

Two sons — his only sons — he saw 

Cold, cold in death, and side by side — 
A grandson and a son-in-law, 

Whose blood the herbage green had dyed ; 
A neighbor kind, whose paling suns, 

Ivike his, had passed the noon of life. 
The father of his younger son's 

Now stricken, widowed, weeping wife 
Another neighboring kinsman, too — 

Hard, hard the trial to endure ! 
But what his feeble hands could do. 

He did to give them sepulture. 



368 RURAL RPIYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

No neighbors kind his hand to aid, 

Excepting two, whose lives were spared, 
And by whose hands the slain were laid 

Within the shallow graves prepared; 
In that rude grave, in bloody dress, 

Without a dirge or funeral knell, 
They laid them down all coffinless, 

Hard by tlie spot on which the}^ fell. 
Then leaving them in death's long sleep, 

As now the evening sun declined — 
Oppressed with gloom and sorrows deep, 

They left those fallen ones behind. 

Now would you see, on Fancy's page. 

That aged sire, as forth he led 
The partner of his youth and age. 

The mother of the buried dead ? 
She who, for fifty years and more, 

Had borne with him life's toils and cares, 
Then with him came from out the door, 

Where they had lived for thirty years. 
Ah, yes! and see those widows too — 

Five widows all so lately made, 
Deprived in one short hour or two 

Of those on whom their hopes were stayed 
With sinking and desponding mind, 

And weeping orphans gathered round. 
They bid adieu to all behind, 

Not knowing where or whither bound. 

I see the mournful cavalcade. 

The small procession moving slow — 
As hastened on the evening shade. 

When evening sun was sinking low ; 
With preparation badly made, ' 

Conveyances both small and rude. 
A long adieu again they bade — 

And all behind was solitude. 



THE EXODUS OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-THKEE. 3^9 

No fancy sketch nor idle dream 

The incidents my pen relates. 
How many citizens, I deem, 

In Jackson County, Cass, and Bates, 
Can now go back in memory — 

Call up those griefs so manifold, 
And testify, and say with me. 

The half has never yet been told ! 

That gloomy fortnight passed away — 

The wheel of time still moving on — 
And when expired the fifteenth day, 

The suffering citizens were gone; 
The mandate had been well obeyed, 

Depopulation's work was done. 
And Ruin's hand not long delayed, 

Bre its destructive work begun. 

Deprived of its bold peasantry. 

The land to hastening ills a prey — 
Gone all that brought prosperity — 

How swift, how rapid its decay ! 
And where was that bold peasantry — 

The country's wealth, the country's pride — 
When one short month had passed away? 

Dispersed and scattered far and wide! 
Those who together dwelt for years. 

Some who had been together nursed — 
Far sundered, and those pioneers 

In different regions all dispersed! 
'MongBt strangers, in a land of strife. 

Their suffering lots apart were cast. 
And bitter was that bitter life. 

Contrasted with the by-gone past. 

As when to Babylon the Jews 

Were borne a conquered, captive band, 

They sat beneath the willow trees, 
And mourned a desolated land; 



370 RURAL RHYMEIS AND OI^D^N TIMES. 

So did Missouri's exiles then, 
In eighteen hundred sixty-three, 

With heavy hearts, go sighing when 
Their harps they hung upon the tree. 

The hymns of praise which long ago 

With true devotion they had sung. 
When now essayed, would sink so low, 

And, faltering, die upon the tongue; 
The bosom oft would heave with pain. 

Or from the eye would start the tear. 
Whene'er that well-remembered strain 

Of "Home, sweet home," fell on the ear. 
Full well the joys of happy homes 

Could they in truth appreciate. 
When they were homeless, and their homes 

Were empty, waste, and desolate. 

How wild and desolate the scene 

Which then appeared unto the view! 
A solitary waste was seen 

By travelers, in passing through, 
From north to south for eighty miles — 

The length of that deserted land ; 
The land which once was decked in smiles 

lyay lonely as the desert sand. 
Bxcept near garrison or post, 

No sign of civil life was seen — 
A passing traveler at most. 

And they now few and far between ; 
But bands of soldiers raided o'er 

The land in desolation dressed. 
And guerrilla bandits, as before, 

Did still the wasted land infest ; 
The goods and chattels which tiad been 

For want of transportation left, 
Were taken by marauders then, 

Or^by the cowardly hand of theft. 



THE KXODUS OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-THREE. 37 1 

Another dire aflQ.iction sore 

Soon fell on that ill-fated land, 
Which spread unchecked the country o'er, 

With naught its progress to withstand ; 
'Twas after frost of autumn came 

And killed the grass and herbage green. 
When sun and winds had dried the same — 

The raging prairie fires were seen. 
They swept across the prairies wide. 

And through the farms deserted there — 
The billowy flames like ocean's tide — 

And left them fenceless, brown, and bare; 
The houses, farms, and orchards too, 

Were, by the conflagration dire, 
Consumed in places not a few. 

And naught remained but marks of fire. 

The labors of the yeomanry, 

The fruits of many years of toil — 
In one brief hour all swept away 

From off the bare and blackened soil ; 
'Tis sad to contemplate the scene, 

'Twas sadder then that scene to view — 
The land in nakedness was seen, 

With naught its verdure to renew. 

'Twas then, when weeks had come and gone, 

Since first the exodus began, 
There came, at chill November's dawn, 

With wearied steps, an aged man. 
Returning, as it were, by stealth 

To where misfortune dire had come, 
To view the wreck of former wealth, 

To see a desolated home. 

The fencing round his farm was gone ; 

The fire had swept it all away, 
And hurrying through the orchard on, 

Had left it withering in decay ; 



372 ■ RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

The dwelling which with youthful hands, 

I^ong time ago, he builded there, 
Now lay in ashes, coals, and brands — 

The wreck of earthly visions fair; 
His barns and granaries no more. 

His crops of grain and hay consumed, 
A visage dark the landscape wore, 

Which in its beauty lately bloomed. 

Another one, who, in his haste. 

Had left his flocks and herds behind, 
Returned when weeks away had passed. 

To seek and save what he could find ; 
Than some by far more fortunate. 

He found his lonely dwelling there ; 
But oh, how darkly desolate 

That dwelling and surroundings were ! 

He passed through each now empty room,* 

Which echoed back his voice again — 
A solitude so full of gloom. 

Where'er he turned, appeared to reign; 
And still that silence so intense 

Was rendered deeper, more profound. 
By knowing all were banished hence. 

That this was now forbidden ground. 
The crowing of domestic fowls. 

The bleating of the flocks of sheep. 
The bark of dogs, their solemn howls. 

Appeared to make the gloom more deep ; 
The herds of cattle, sheep, and hogs 

In those few weeks so wild had grown 
They fled away ; and even dogs 

Would scarce their master's presence own. 

The fencing down, his farm seemed lost — 
All wasting his ungathered grain. 

While orchard fruits, touched by the frost, 
lyay rotting in the sun and rain. 



*See "The Exile's Lament." 



the; exodus of eighteen sixty-three. 373 

He visited the homes, so lone, 

Of those who once his neighbors were ; 
But they, those neighbors kind, were gone, 

And none to bid him welcome there ; 
For though the doors were open then, 

The rooms all tenantless he found. 
While gloomy silence reigned within, 

And wasting solitude around — 
'Twas lonely, lonely everywhere. 

Upon the then untraveled roads ; 
But lonelier, more lonely far. 

In those untenanted abodes. 

He passed the little village through. 

He walked its lone and silent street — 
That street was then deserted too, 

And bore no marks of human feet. 
Abandoned every dwelling-place, 

Abandoned every shop and store ; 
And Desolation's frowning face 

Seemed scowling out from every door. 

He passed the church, that sacred place 

Where often he had bowed in pra3^er ; 
But weeks and months had fled apace 

Since worshipers assembled there ; 
How many months, or years complete. 

How man}^, many weary days, 
Before those worshipers shall meet 

Within that church for prayer and praise ! 

Another one, when chillingly 

Cold Winter spread his mantle o'er 
That land deserted, came to see 

The home where he had dwelt before ; 
The snows of winter, cold and deep. 

Around and on each dwelling lay, 
As o'er the rough, unbroken sweep, 

Through driving snows he made his w^ay. 



374 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES- 

The howling storm blocked up his way — 

He felt the cold's intensity ; 
Ah ! who can e'er forget that day, 

The last of eighteen sixty-three ? 
No cheerful, blazing fires were there 

Within the dwellings which he passed, 
But empty, cheerless, bleak, and bare, 

As round them howled the bitter blast. 
Successively he passed them by. 

The hospitable homes of men 
Who ne'er perhaps will occupy 

Those hospitable homes again ; 
And as those cheerless homes he passed, 

His thoughts, so sad, still sadder grew, 
Till his own home he reached at last, 

To find it lone and cheerless too ; 
The wailings of the dying year, 

The winds from out the evening's gloom — 
The only sounds to greet his ear. 

The only welcome to his home. 

"It was not always thus," he sighed; 

"There was a time, nor long ago, m 

Kre war, upon secession's tide, « 

Brought desolation, death, and woe. 
That from this now deserted hearth 

The light of cheerfulness was spread ; 
When wife and children joined their mirth 

With friends, now numbered with the dead. 
But they, those happy days, have flown, 

And now the days are dark and drear ; 
While in my empty house alone, 

I wait and watch the dying year." 

'Twas there, in days gone by, that he 

And those he loved and held most dear 
Had watched with hope's expectancy 

The coming of a bright new year; 
But oh, how changed ! no prattling tongue 

Was heard within the tempest's pause; 
No childish hand its stockings hung 

To catch the gifts of Santa Claus. 



THK e;X0DUS of eighteen SIXTY-THREE. 375 

Aud wheu the New Year morn appeared, 

A colder one sure never blew ; 
A colder wind had never stirred 

The leafless groves he hurried through, 
As, burthened with his grief and woe^ 

And blinded by his tears and pain, 
Returning through the drifted snow. 

He sought his loved ones once again. 

'Twas later in Time's calendar, 

While Winter yet held vigorous reign — 
There walked the hills of Sni-a-bar 

A female known as Crazy Jane. 
Poor Crazy Jane ! 'Twas long ago, 

And in the sunny morn of life. 
She came where Sni's clear waters flow, 

And there became a loving wife; 
To husband, and to children too, 

Ivove's silken cord then bound her heart; 
111 fortune cut that cord in two. 

And bore those loving ones apart. 

Time passed ; she lived, but reason fled — 

A harmless maniac was she ; 
From place to place she went, 'twas said. 

To seek her long-lost children three; 
She went, she came without debar. 

And strangers oftentimes would meet 
Poor Crazy Jane of Sni-a-bar 

On public road or village street. 
At intervals of time and space, 

The weather foul, the weather fair, 
Would find her near the old home place, 

Still wandering back and forward there. 

An interval of years had passed 

Since they had seen her face so plain, 

And citizens had almost ceased 
To speak or think of Crazy Jane ; 



376 RUKAL KHYMES AND OI.DKN TIMKS. 

But when the land was lying waste, 

And all its citizens were gone, 
She came, those paths again she traced, 

Still by those strange impulses drawn — 
The last, last visit to the home 

Where she had passed youth's happy days 
The last, last time her feet will roam 

The old and still remembered ways. 

It never, never can be known 

How far, how long she wandered there, 
For she was all alone, alone. 

With none to witness her despair. 
A few there were — some very few — 

Who, in their solitary way. 
When passing that lone desert through, 

Had met the hopeless Mrs. Gray; 
And piteously she made complaint. 

That none to her would ope the door, 
Though she from hunger then was faint, 

And from the cold was suffering sore. 

Night followed night, day followed day, 

And still she wandered up and down; 
Still farther on she made her way. 

Beyond the then deserted town ; 
On, onward still, her footsteps tend; 

She walked as through a wilderness — 
No human eye to see the end 

Of that lone journey of distress. 
That journey ended — when or how 

The great Omniscient only knows ; 
All that we know, or can know now — 

It ended ere the winter's close. 

Within a farmer's dwelling lone, 

Beyond the county's southern bound, 

Up in a garret there is shown 

The spot where Crazy Jane was found; 



THE KXODUS OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-THREE. 377 

That dwelling lone, that garret cold, 

Had witnessed her expiring breath; 
But they nor aught will e'er unfold 

The secret of that lonely death. 
Whether by wasting and disease, 

Whether by hunger, thirst, or cold, 
Or from a cause more sad than these, 

Has never yet, nor will be told. 

But yet, imagination keen 

Can pierce the darkness and the gloom, 
And vividly portray the scene 

Of death in that small upper room; 
Or, taking wings, the spirit trace 

From garret cold to shining Heaven, 
Where joys eternal took the place 

Of suffering caused by Order Kleven. 

But time would fail ; we need not dwell 

Or longer yet delineate 
The pains and hardships which befell 

Those in that region situate ; 
But many thousands yet there be 

Who travel o'er those scenes in thought — 
Troublous scenes of " sixty-three " — 

Which Order Number Eleven wrought. 
By military force constrained. 

All drank of that same bitter cup; 
Some to the dregs the goblet drained, 

And swallowed every bitter drop. 
And did they suffer thus for naught, 

Enduring ills with fortitude? 
Was Order Eleven only fraught 

With ill, without attendant good? 

We may not say, for human ken 

Can never see within the shade, 
And tell what evils might have been. 

Had that stern order ne'er been made. 



378 RURAI, RHYMKS AND OI.DEN TIMES. 

But those who witnessed those events, 

Those thousand hearts with sorrows riven, 

All viewed them as the consequence 
Of Ewiug's Order Number Eleven. 

And if it should be said to-day. 

As some perhaps will say it should, 
That private interest should not weigh 

Against the general public good; 
That all those separate griefs and woes 

Were given with the best intent. 
To rid the land of public foes 

And benefit the Government — 
We ask, shall Government benign 

Take what our bill of rights defends, 
And private property assign 

To public use without amends? 
Shall they, those loyal pioneers. 

Who long ago this region sought. 
Who labored and who toiled for years 

On lands so wild, which then they bought,- 
Bought from that Government which late 

By agents drove them homeless hence, — 
Must they now bow, yield to their fate, 

Nor dare to ask a recompense ? 
And will that Government, for which 

That sacrifice was asked and made, 
Deny to all, deny to each 

The claim so just, so long delayed? 
Forbid it Heaven ! O Justice, wake ! 

No longer let thy hands withhold 
The means which, well applied, might make 

Amends for ills so manifold ! 



poe(T\s, OeeasioQal apd (TjiseellaQeous. 



OLD-TIME REMINISCENCES. 



Poem read by Martin Rice at the meeting- of old settlers of lyafayette 
County, August, 1885. 

We meet again, old pioneers; 
To speak of all the by-gone years 

That we have wandered o'er 
Since we gray-headed ones first met 
Within the bounds of Lafayette, 
The few of us who are lingering yet 

Have met again once more. 

It may, perhaps, the last time be 
That we each other's face shall ^see ; 

Then let us lay aside 
The cares of life, and for a while 
Forget our age, forget our toil, 
And pleasantly the hours beguile 

Until the evening-tide. 

We'll talk of the old times and ways, 
So different from these latter days 

In this progressive age, 
x\nd of the many changes great 
That have occurred within the State, 
And facts and incidents relate 

For future history's page. 

A half a century has flown — 
Full fifty years have come and gone, 
And more than that, I trow, 



380 RURAI, RHYMEIS AND OI,DE;n TIMES. 

Since some of you gray-headed ones 
Came here with wives and little ones. 
Those daughters fair, those sturdy sons— 
Where are those children now? 

We call to mind, in musing mood. 

The spot where first our dwelling stood— 

That dwelling small and rude, 
With clapboard roof and puncheon floor, 
A clapboard shutter to the door, 
Round which the children play no more, 

Nor come at mother's call. 

That mother, too, perhaps has gone, 
And you, like me, are tottering on 

Life's journey all alone. 
Ah me! the changes we have seen! 
How many changes there have been 
Since first we saw those prairies green, 

With flowerets thickly strewn ! 

Those by-gone scenes we oft recall; 
The country then was prairie all. 

Or groves by Nature's hand 
Planted along the winding streams ; 
We see them now only in dreams ; 
All, all is changed, and now it seems 

Almost another land. 

The pea-vine, then so green and rank 
That grew upon the Tabo's bank 

Or on Missouri's shore, 
Has fallen, fallen long ago ; 
The waving grass that useji to grow 
On Davis or the Sni, you know. 

Is growing there no more. 



OLD-TIME REMINISCENCES. 38 1 

That wilderness of prairie grass, 
Through which the hunter had to pass 

O'er hill and spreading plain, 
To fruitful farms has given place, 
And where was once the hunter's chase 
Now harvesters and threshers race 

To save the golden grain. 

Ah, yes! there's been full many a change 
Since you in youth could nimbly range 

That forest through and through; 
There's been a change in men and things. 
Time flies as if on eagle's wings. 
And oh, the changes which it brings ! 

We know, we feel it true. 

Our days, our weeks, our months, our years 
Are passing off, and it appears 

They faster come and go. 
Ah! who has lived, as we have done. 
His three score years beneath the sun. 
And seen the stars their courses run, 

But knows that this is so? 

A month to childhood seemed a year, 
And years like ages did appear, 

So slowly on they wore; 
But now in age, while tottering on 
With feeble step and cheeks all wan. 
Scarce comes the year until 'tis gone. 

And 'twill return no more. 

But as the years shall come and go. 
Borne on by Time's incessant flow, 

Let us old pioneers 
With this association meet. 
Our ancient citizens to greet, 
And with them hold communion sweet, 

And talk of by-gone years. 



382 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

The few of us who yet remain 
Of those old pioneers would fain 

Meet once a year at least. 
O let us ne'er forget the past; 
The pioneers are leaving fast — 
'Twill not be long until the last 

Will have from labor ceased. 

And now that we have met to-day 
A few brief hours to while away, 

lyCt us a while forget 
That we are old and feeble grown, 
And with a cheerful heart and tone 
Speak of the things that we have known 

And well remember yet. 

And as the memory backward runs, 
We'll seek out those remembered ones. 

Remembered for the good; 
Renew the friendship that was made, 
Perhaps, when we in childhood played, 
Before that either one had strayed 

From the old neighborhood. 

And if within this social band 
We clasp again some friendly hand 

We clasped in by-gone years, 
Some friend we have not seen before 
For many j^ears, we'll talk it o'er — 
The scenes of youth, the days of yore, 

Mixed with our smiles and tears ; 

Speak of the changes we have seen — 
How many changes there l:iave been 

In the last fifty years! 
Imagination strongly drawn 
Could not foresee what has been done ; 
And changes still are going on — 

No end to them appears. 






OLD-TIME REMINISCENCES. 383 

L9.rge towns and cities now we see, 

With churches, schools, and knowledge free. 

Where once the prairies wild 
Were spread abroad from East to West, 
And lay in Nature's garments dressed; 
A fitting home 'twas thought, at best, 

For Nature's wandering child. 

Our cabin homes were small and rude. 
And little less than solitude 

Reigned over half the land; 
Our neighbors few and far between. 
For miles would sometimes intervene, 
But kinder neighbors ne'er were seen 

When help was in demand. 

So social and so kind were they — 
'Tis said it is not so to-day — 

You know as well as I ; 
'Tis said that there is more of self, 
That love of gain, mischievous elf. 
And pride, have laid upon the shelf 

The friendly, social tie. 

And now whene'er we call to mind 
Those neighbors, social, true, and kind. 

With their old-fashioned ways. 
The recollection gives us pain; 
Of all those friends, so true and plain, 
How few, how very few, remain 

To see these evil days ! 

A few more years will pass, and then 
You'll look in vain for these old men 

Who meet with you to-day. 
The world will still move on, I trow, 
The busy crowd will surge as now ; 
We know not when, we know not how. 

But we'll be gone away. 



384 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

The places we so long have filled, 

The farms that we have cleared and tilled, 

These hands will till no more. 
Soon, soon for those then left behind 
It will be hard, ah! hard to find 
A pioneer who has not joined 

The number gone before. 

But if, old pioneers, before 

You leave this earthly, mundane shore. 

You place some mark thereon, 
A mark posterity may read, 
Of useful work or noble deed, 
Some useful lesson they may heed 

When you are dead and gone. 

You will Qot then have lived in vain, 
Nor died to live no more again ; 

Such cannot be your fate. 
Posterity will ne'er forget 
The pioneers of I/afayette 
Who have the good example set 

For them to imitate. 

But young America, you say, 
Have crowded you out of the way, 

And are wiser now than you. 
The boys of this progressive age 
Are pushing you off of the stage ; 
Invention seems to be the rage — 

Inventing something new. 

Ah, yes ! there's many a thing, we'll own, 
That in our youth was quite unknown, 

Familiar now to men. 
The world they say is wiser now, 
And that 'tis better some avow. 
But we old fogies think somehow 

That times were better then. 



OLD-TIME REMINISCENCKS. 385 

Of railroads then we little knew — 
The truth is this : that I or you 

Had never seen one then; 
And little did we ever dream 
That they would be as now they seem, 
Determined to run the world by steam, 

And rule or ruin men. 

Nor had we ever heard or known 
Of telegraph or telephone ; 

The idea ne'er had caught 
Of pictures by daguerreotype, 
Of photograph or ambrotype, 
Or printing by electrotype, 

As quick almost as thought. 

Machinery, too, upon the farm, 
Was not then working like a charm. 

As now it does, you know; 
Our reaper then a reaping-hook. 
Which in his hand the farmer took 
Just as described in sacred book 

Two thousand years ago. 

How strange it is, how passing strange, 
That fifty years have made more change 

Than thousand years before ! 
And yet 'tis true, as all allow ; 
The reaper and the binder now, 
The thresher and the sulky plow, 
A hundred things, all tell us how 

Old fashions live no more. 

They boast their colleges and schools. 
And some might think that we were fools 

When these were quite unknown ; 
This may be so, but all we ask: 
While young America may bask 
In knowledge, they'll perform life's task 

As well as we have done. 



386 RURAI, RHYMES AND OI^DEN TIMES. 

And while they boast, as boast they will, 
Of greater things expected still, 

Discoveries grander yet, 
lyCt us old ones with silver hair 
Call back the time, the when and where, 
We made locations here and there 

In good old Lafayette. 

And as the memory backward roams, 
We'll picture out our forest homes. 

Homely and simply plain. 
Where then we lived in simple style. 
And scratched with shovel-plow the soil, 
And by our unremitting toil 

Produced the needed grain. 

Ah, yes! in memory some can trace 
And picture out the old home place 

Where they in youth abode; 
Can see the corn and wheat-field green. 
The flax and cotton-patch between, 
The garden too, a home-like scene. 

Where beans and cabbage growed. 

Our young American might smile. 
Could he go back with us awhile 

And view the scenes of yore. 
The primitive and simple ways 
In which we passed our younger days. 
When pride and fashion dared not gaze 

Within our cabin door. 

And he would smile again, no doubt. 
Could he but see us threshing out 

Our wheat with hickory' flail, 
Or fanning it with blanket sheet, 
To separate the chaff" and cheat. 
The blowing process oft repeat 

Till wind and strength would fail. 



^ 



OLD-TIME REMINISCENCES. 387 

But let them smile, if smile they will, 
Or laugh outright, we are thinking still 

They underrate our team. 
They are driving faster than we did ; 
We drove the oxen — they, instead, 
Are rushing on and on amid 

The whiz and din of steam. 

And some of them perchance will sneer 
At the old-fogy pioneer, 

With his old-fashioned ways, 
Who with old-fashioned implements 
Produced the fortune which these gents 
Are spending, while their brain invents 

Some new and modern ciaze. 

Yes, let them laugh, we'll heed it not ; 
It may be that our lowly lot 

As pleasant was as theirs. 
Although we did not have as much, 
Our customs and our lives were such 
We did not handle, taste, or touch. 

Or put on swelling airs. 

With pewter plates and pewter spoons, 
Home-made coat and pantaloons, 

. Coat and vest the same; 
While the women, — bless their hearts! — 
Though all unskilled in modern arts, 
Most cheerfully performed the parts 
By God assigned to them. 

They knew the use of wheel and cards, 
And spun and wove their many yards, 

As fast the shuttle flew ; 
They clothed their husbands and themselves, 
Their clothing packed upon the shelves. 
While cotton yarn hung up by twelves* 

Told what the girls could do. 



'■ Dozens they calledit. 



388 RURAI. RHYMES AND OLDKN TIMES. 

Gray-headed ladies here I see — 
They know how things did use to be 

In days that's passed away; 
Some useful lessons they could teach 
To girls whose grammar and whose speech 
Are far above their grandma's reach, 

In this progressive day. 

Now, gentlemen and ladies gray. 
Permit an old man here to say: 

I^et us cherish memories old; 
Let this occasion call to mind 
The friends to whom we once were joined 
In neighborship and friendship kind, 

Ere friends were bought and sold. 

Ah, yes ! old friends surviving few, 
We'll pass them now in brief review, 

The many passed away; 
Some of them long ago have gone. 
Death's curtain round them has been drawn, 
And they will sleep until the dawn 

Of a brighter, better day. 

We call to mind remembered names: 
Fristoe, Hicklin, Young, and James, 

Cockerell, Bounds, and Cox, 
Kdwards, Robinson, and Hall, 
Ewing, Linville, Graves, and Aull, 
Ryland, Estes, and Duval, 

Catron, Rupe, and Fox, 

Hopper, Jennings, Scott, and Lynch, 
Cantrell, Mulkey, Swift, and Finch, 

McBride, and Barker too, ' 
Powell, Campbell, and McClure, 
Whitsett, Easley, Woods, and Moore, 
Majors, Waggoner, and Shore, 

With Emmons and Perdue, 



OLD-TIMK REMINISCENCES. 389 

Graham, Fletcher, Smith, and Trapp, 
Edmonson, and Ish, and Stapp, 

Manion, Hughes, and Helms, 
Renick, Warder, and Flournoy, 
McCommick, Ramy, and Pomeroy, 
Burden, Green, and Sensiboy, 

With Fulkerson and Gilliams, 

Simons, Collins, Page, and Trigg, 
Davis, Walker, Brooks, and Rigg, 

Thornton, Horn, and Sloane, 
Nelson, Bowers, King, and Bright, 
Waddell, Harris, Cobb, and White, 
Holman, Warren, Webb, and Wright, 

Wallace, Nave, and Stone, 

Benning, Vivion, Houx, and Ward, 
McCausland, Murray, and McCord, 

McCaflferty and Ray, 
Demastes, Rankin, Pool, and Steel, 
Bowring, Patterson, and Peel, 
Adams, Williams, Keith, and Neill — 

But all have passed away ! 

Some of those names you'll ne'er forget, 
They linger in your memory yet, 

And will for many a day ; 
You knew their sons, and daughters too. 
The boys and girls who played with you — 
Where are the sons that once you knew? 

Those daughters, where are they? 

Some few of them are living yet 
Within the bounds of lyafayette, 

And in this social band 
I fancy there are some to-day. 
Descendants of those patriots gray; 
If that is so, I trust that they 

Will each one raise his hand. 



390 RURAI. RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

Yes, they are here — more than I thought- 
Whom cherished memories have brought 

To swell this gathered crowd. 
Dear friends, we oft have met before, 
And parted, but of this we're sure: 
We'll some day part to meet no more 

Till death shall us enshroud. 

But there is hope beyond the grave ; 
When we have breasted every wave 

Of life's tempestuous sea 
And reached in safety yonder shore, 
We'll join the friends who've gone before, 
The loved and lost, to part no more 

Through vast eternity. 



THE COUNTRY SCHOOL LYCEUM. 



A SQUIB. 



Did you ever hear tell of our school on the bluff? 

Bluff College we call it when wishing to puff. 

You've heard of it often, I have not a doubt. 

But let me now tell you the college about: 

In Van Buren Township, not far from I,one Jack, 

And near to Hicks City, a mile or so back. 

Amongst the Sni hills, on a high, stony bluff — 

But of its location I've said quite enough. 

The professor — a very good man, by the way; 

And no doubt he has earned every cent of his pay — 

He teaches the urchins to read and to spell, 

To gabble their grammar and cipher quite well ; 

He teaches them something not found in the books. 

And knows a deal more than you'd think from his looks; 

For years in the past he has taught the school there. 

And pupils of his are now teaching elsewhere. 



THE COUNTRY SCHOOI, I^YCEUM. 39 1 

But the pride of the college, as I will now state, 

Is its lyceum grand, or its school of debate ; 

'Tis there that polemics and logic are taught, 

And orators famous from nothing are brought. 

The Websters and Clays of the future may date 

Their greatness from this the Bluff College debate, 

And Allen and Easley, and Bennett and Snow, 

With Dedman and Burns, and some others you know, 

Those orators famous who weekly meet there, 

Can favorably now with old Chatham compare; 

And could you be there when they once measure swords, 

You'd own that their heads are not made out of gourds. 

Though all of their words may not fit like a joint, 

They care not a whit if they carry their point — 

And their point they have carried both time and again. 

That money is greater than women with men; 

That pride and ambition has caused more distress 

Than superstition and ignorance — or may be 'twas less; 

That the Indian has suffered at Caucasian hands 

More a great deal, from the loss of his lands, 

Than the negro, who, brought from a barbarous state, 

Has a free man become, and a voter of late — 

All these and a thousand vexed questions have been 

Or will be decided that lyceum within ; 

And if the king's English is murdered, depend 

Each member will rally his chum to defend. 

There's no danger of hanging a man from the bluflf. 

For, though without money, they've lawyers enou«gh; , 

And when Cicero pleads, and Demosthenes too, 

'Tis easy to see what the jury will do: 

" Guilty, no doubt, but let him go free; 

Through a cloud of such arguments naught can we see." 

Then come to our school on the next Friday night. 

And if not convinced, you'll be convinced quite, 

And think that the spirits of Burke and of Fox 

Have descended and rested on that point of rocks, 

Embodied in Rasmus, and perhaps you'd believe 

That Cicero's mantle was resting on Steve. 

But now, having said all I wanted to say, 

I will bid you adieu until some other day. 



392 RURAI, RHYME;S and OI.DEN TIMKS. 

SERMON BY A LITTLE GIRL. 



I will preach a little sermon, 

And from a little text; 
And, when I've had my say out, 

Give place unto the next. 
My text is in the Proverbs 

Of Solomon the wise : 
"Who is it that has sorrows? 

Who is it has red eyes? " 

'Tis said by some that woman 

Should never preach at all, 
And to back up that assertion 

They quote from old St. Paul. 
But I am not a woman, — 

Only a girl, you see, — 
So the force of that objection 

Will not apply to me. 

It matters not who preaches. 

If the doctrine preached is true ; 
And whether truth or falsehood 

You can judge when I get through. 
"Who is it that has sorrows?" 

I quote the text again ; 
An eye inflamed to redness, 

And a dizzy, clouded brain? 

'Tis he who tarries long 

Where the wine is flowing free. 
If any man has sorrows, 

That man is surely he 
Whose appetites and longings 

Are on the beverage fixed, 
Who seeks the wine-cup daily — 

The wine with whisky mixed. 



J 



SERMON BY A WTTLE GIRL. 393 

But at the end it biteth, 

Or like an adder stings, 
And anguish after anguish 

To the wretched ones it brings. 
Three thousand years of history 

Have proved that this is so; 
Intoxicating liquors 

Have filled the world with woe. 

The widow and the orphan 

By thousands have been made, 
And drunkards by the thousand 

In drunkards' graves are laid; 
And a large and growing army 

Are marching on and on. 
And the miseries of their drinking 

Will haunt them till they're gone. 

And a fresh-recruited column 

Will fill their places soon; 
You see recruiting-officers 

In shop and in saloon. 
Young man, let me exhort you — 

My sermon now I close, 
And give an exhortation 

This evil to oppose. 

Then would you 'scape the sorrows 

And the redness of the eyes. 
Then shun the den of horrors, 

Where the coiling serpent lies; 
Shun every place of drinking. 

And never near them go ; 
There's danger there — remember 

That Kmma tells you so. 



394 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

TO MY GRANDSON. 



upon His Approaching Marriage. 

Give ear unto your grandsire, John — 
Your grandsire old and gray — 

I speak to you of days by-gone 
And those who have passed away. 

A few more years, and then too late 
Those truths from me to learn; 

The opportunity, if lost. 
May never more return. 

You're in the prime of life, dear John- 
Near twenty-nine, I think ; 

My sands of life have low down run. 
And lower still they sink ; 

And what I have to say to you 

I should not long delay; 
Procrastination, thief of time. 

Rich treasures steals away. 

You are taking a companion, John, 
To help you on through life; 

As man in every age has done, 
A woman take to wife. 

I lay no blame on you for this; 

'Tis Nature's universal law, 
Approved by Nature's God, who will 

His sanction ne'er withdraw. 

And were it wrong, as some contend 

Without believing so, 
That wrong long since I did myself — 

O'er fifty years ago. 



TO MY GRANDSON. 395 

And now a fitting time to speak 

Of incidents long past ; 
I had my wedding-day long since, 

And yours approaches fast. 

'Twas one and fifty years ago — 

Ere I was twenty-two — 
From out her father's house I brought 

My Mary, kind and true. 

That house I pointed out to you 

As in the distance we 
Were passing by; that house perhaps 

I never more shall see. 

But oh, how changed have all things been 

Within those fifty years ! 
Where all was wild prairie then 

A bustling town appears. 

Of tramping poet you have read. 

At autumn's eve who came 
To that old house where he was wed, 

A lodging-placft to claim ; 

Who asked a single night's repose 

Within that old-time door, 
Where he and Mary last had slept 

Near fifty years before. 

The host and hostess both are dead; 

Kind actions never die; 
The tramping poet thanks them yet — 

That tramping poet I. 

Time-cherished memories on the hill. 

Near where Odessa stands ; 
The home of Mary, builded by 

Your great-grandfather's hands. 



396 RURAI, RHYMES AND OLDEIN TIMES. 

From that old home, in thirty-six, 
Dear Mary home I brought 

To the small cabin on the farm 
That I had lately bought. 

Time passed away, year followed year, 
And still we struggled on 

Till twenty years had fled, and then 
My Mary too was gone. 

You never saw dear Mary, John — 
Grandmother she of yours ; 

Full one and thirty years ago 
She left life's rugged shores ; 

And if the spirits of the blessed 
Keep watch and guard our way, 

May hers be with you as a guest 
Upon your wedding-day. 

I do not know yoMX fiancee — 

I hope I some time will, 
Ar.d trust a helpmate she may be 

To you through good and ill. 

And if my prayers could aught avail, 

I'd ask that she may be 
As true and kind to you through life 

As Mary was to me. 

Some pledges of her faithful love 
Have gone with her to dwell; 

The first one was your mother, John, 
The child I loved so well. 

That mother you remember yet. 
Although you were not large; 

Her dying hour you'll not forget, 
Nor her last, dying charge. 



TO MY GRANDSON. 397 

No father's and no mother's hand 

Since then to guard your heart. 
God knows, dear John, I tried to act 

Toward you a father's part; 

And where I failed to do the best. 

That failure I deplore, 
And trust the failure you'll forgive 

When I am here no more. 

And when your nuptial day arrives, 

Though I shall not be there, 
That happiness may crown your lives 

Will be my constant prayer. 

Aad should that day be foul or fair, 

I'll pray the storms of life 
May never gather round your home, 

Nor yet the storm of strife; 

Your days in useful toil be passed, 

Till life's short race is run, 
Each happy as the day that makes 

You and Estella one; 

Still hoping she is fitted well 

A poor man's wife to make. 
And that you will yourself excel 

For your companion's sake, 

And that no vain accomplishments. 

Nor fashion's gaudy show. 
Will overcome your common sense 

Without your thinking so. 

This is a speculating age, 

And hearts are bought and sold; 
The goddess Fashion all the rage. 

And men will worship gold; 



398 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

But something holier by far, 
And more ennobling too, 

I trust has drawn your heart to her 
And fixed her hopes on you. 

Despite the follies I have named, 
In these degenerate days, 

I trust you'll never be ashamed 
Of our old-fashioned ways; 

And if in Fashion's giddy race 

You fall a space behind. 
Regard it not; by slower pace 

More treasures you may find. 

From paths of plain simplicity. 
Devoid of pomp and show. 

There can be.no necessity 
For you and her to go. 

The even tenor of your way 

Contentedly pursue. 
Nor fret andfume your lives away 

By hurrying to get through. 

Man needs but little worldly pelf. 
And will not need it long; 

Depend on Providence and self. 
And seldom you'll go wrong. 

You'll say that I old-fashioned am — 

One of the fossil men 
Of fifty years ago — and that 

All things have changed since then ; 

That now, the goods of life to save. 
As Fortune's wheel may whirl, 

Men rise on speculation's wave, 
Or go down in the swirl; 



TO MY GRANDvSON. 399 

That men must push and hurry things, 
And friends must help them push, 

And form themselves in cliques and rings 
To shake each other's bush; 

That they must work, and scheme, and plan. 

And give themselves no rest. 
To overreach their fellow-man, 

Which is the truth confessed. 

'Twas always so, if not so much 

As in this age of ours. 
This age in which we're boasting such 

Vast wonder-working powers. 

That fifty years have wrought a change 

Is true we all admit. 
And some of them have been most strange, 

And some that we regret. 

But Nature's laws in anything 

No change will ever know : 
lyike causes like effects will bring, 

As fifty years ago ; 

And he that hasteth to be rich 

Sees not with evil eye 
The poverty and ruin which 

Are coming by and by; 

And surely now, as heretofore. 

The diligent shall rule. 
While sloth and vain extravagance 

Bring want and ridicule. 

But there's a power that shapes the end. 

Rough-hew it as we may ; 
Consult that power, on it depend 

As guide in all the way. 



^E^EWF- 



400 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

That power 5^ou have acknowledged, John; 

That power has me sustained 
Through all the years that's come and gone, 

The moons that's waxed and waned; 

To children and to children's sons 

A present help 'twill be — 
A rest to all the wearied ones. 

The wearied ones like me; 

And when the end at last shall come. 
And Death knocks at the door, 

'Twill bear us home to loving wives 
And kindred gone before. 

And now, dear John, awhile farewell; 

I wish you peace and joy; 
May peace and comfort ever dwell 

With Martha's oldest boy. 



ANNIVERSARY ORATION. 



Lone 



Read by the author at the twenty-fourth anniversary of the battle of 
; Jack, August 16, 1886. 



'Twas four and twenty years ago, 
On battle-field hard by. 

Brave soldiers met as brave a foe, 
And soldiers dared to die. 

Unnatural foemen met that day, 
Unnatural foes they were; 

Sons of a common country they, 
Foemen contending there. 



ANNIVKRSARY ORATION. 40I 

Men who in boyhood's years had played 

Together on the green, 
In war's dread panoply arrayed, 

Were then contending seen. 

The friendship of their youthful day, 

And of a manhood's prime. 
Was all forgotten, cast away. 

In that dark, troublous time. 

Each thought that he was in the right ; 

We say not which was wrong — 
There must have been a wrong, to blight 

A friendship cherished long. 

Each bore, no doubt, within his breast, 

A patriotic heart; 
Each thought he loved his country best, 

And took that country's part. 

Each, disregarding war's alarms. 

Risked life upon the field ; 
Unmoved amid the clash of arms. 

Refusing long to yield. 

They fought as patriot soldiers dare. 

And some as patriots died ; 
Reposing 'neath the greensward there, 

They're sleeping side by side. 

Yes, sound and undisturbed their sleep — 

The strife has passed away; 
And in their memory we keep 

Each anniversary. 

Upon yon elevated ground, 

Where once the lone tree stood, 
The soldiers' grave will long be found. 

And cherished as it should. 



-26- 



402 RURAI, RHYMKS AND OIvDEN TIMKS. 

The years have come, the years have gone, 
Those four and twenty years; 

And Father Time, in passing on, 
Has dried the widow's tears. 

But ere we leave them in their sleep, 

Those patriotic braves, 
A tear of sympathy most deep 

We'll drop upon their graves. 

And as the circling years go round, 

We'll meet as now we meet. 
And treading on this hallowed ground, 

We'll tread with careful feet. 

How many thousands here have met ! 

What are those meetings for? 
'Tis not, we trust, to celebrate. 

The triumphs of the war. 

'Tis not o'er victory to rejoice. 

Nor o'er the many slain; 
Nor to insult with taunting voice 

Those who were foemen then. 

The war is over long ago. 

And its results are known; 
The North and South are one, we know. 

The country all our own. 

We have a common country now, 

A common heritage; 
Then let us never more allow, 

Ourselves such wars to wage. 

lyCt past estrangements be forgot. 

Or if remembered still, 
Remembered as a warning note. 

To guard 'gainst future ill. 



ANNIVERSARY ORATION, 403 

I^et Federal and Confederate 

Join hands as one to-day; 
lyCt animosity and hate 

Be banished far away. 

We may have differed in the past, 

Or fought on either side ; 
The war is o'er, the die is cast, 

And all are satisfied. 

Some may have disappointed been, 

Their expectations crossed ; 
Some may have failed the prize to win. 

But all has not been lost. 

That disappointments tend to good 

Has often been confessed; 
The Father of our brotherhood 

Knows what is for the best. 

He gives to each dear child of his 

Not what that child may ask. 
But what his truest interest is, 

Though covered by a mask. 

The men who would have dimmed a star 

Upon yon banner bright 
Rejoice now to see from far 

Its shining rays unite. 

And he who strove to break the chain 

That binds the States as one 
Will strive that union to maintain 

Till his last setting sun. 

And could our voices reach the ear 

Of yonder sleeping ones, 
We'd say: " This heritage so dear 

Goes to your waiting sons. 



1 



404 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

"The liberty for which you fought 

Upon yon field of blood 
Has been secured, though dearly bought; 

Sleep on in quietude.' 

And now, before we leave the scene, — 
A scene both sad and dear, — 

If past estrangements still remain, 
L/Ct them be buried here. 

The past is past, the present here, 
The future none can know; 

We may not meet another year ; 
Be friends ere hence you go. 

If there is one beneath yon sun. 

Who owes ill will to me 
For any wrong thing said or done. 

During that great melee, 

I'll ask his pardon while I live, 

'Tis all I now can do; 
And what I ask, I freely give. 

When I'm requested to." 



THE MUSE OF HISTORY. 



This poem was written at the request of the historian who compiled The 
Histor}' of Jackson County, Missouri, as a sort of introduction to the work; 
but, owing to some oversight or other cause, it was not inserted in the book. 

Last night, as I sat in my cabin alone,— r 

The fire had burned low and I sleepy had grown, — 

A figure majestic in beauty did seem 

To rise up before me (perhaps 'twas a dream), 

And there as she stood by the light of the fire, 

A goddess she seemed, though in human attire ; 

Majestic she stood, and a word she spake not. 

Surprise and alarm held me fast to the spot; 



THE MUSE OF HISTORY. 405 

My pulse became quicker, my limbs became weak, 

And thrice I essayed it before I could speak. 

"Dear madam," I stammered, "if madam you are, 

I pray you'll be seated." I offered a chair, 

She seated herself, and I saw plainly then 

A scroll in one hand, in the other a pen. 

The mantle she wore I can't describe now, 

A chaplet of roses encircled her brow. 

The cast of her features was youthful and fair. 

Although it bore marks of thought and of care; 

The freshness of youth and the wisdom of age 

Seemed blended together, the child and the sage. 

I spoke when recovering the use of my tongue : 

"I pray you will tell me, fair damsel so young, 

From whence 5^ou have come and who you may be, 

By what namej^ou are called and your business with me." 

She spake, and her voice was meltingly soft: 

"I am History's muse, you have heard of me oft; 

And though you may style me a damsel so j^oung. 

For three thousand years I have written or sung 

The achievements of those who were daring and bold, 

The deeds and the sayings of heroes of old; 

Have written of things both light and sublime, 

And recorded the doings of men in all time. 

I came from the East, from the banks of the Nile, 

Where the pyramid stands, that mysterious pile. 

And since then have traveled the world o'er and o'er, 

And left my footprints upon every shore ; 

The fair classic fields of Greece and of Rome 

For hundreds of years were my principal home. 

I have told and can tell of the rise and the fall 

Of each nation of earth — I have been in them all ; 

Wherever a civilized people have dwelt. 

They have seen me and known me, my influence felt. 

'Twas I who inspired old Homer to sing 

The war of the Grecians 'gainst Troy's great king ; 

Herodotus wrote as I gave him the cue. 

As all of your modern historians yet do ; 

My mission has been and is yet to unfold 

The deeds and exploits of the worthies of old; 



406 RURAI, RHYMES AND OI.DE;n TIMES. 

The millions of volumes that I have inspired 

Will tell 5^ou the things that they did, if desired." 

"Hold, hold, my good madam! I can't comprehend 

The ten-thousandth part of the things you have penned. 

A thousand years back is too far back for me; 

Those worm-eaten volumes I wish not to see ; 

But if you have been in the world all the time, 

And have witnessed men's doings in every clime, 

And that is your mission, I'd fain have you tell 

The things that occurred in the land where I dwell, 

The things that transpired in the county you know 

In the years long departed, the days long ago; 

The county of Jackson, the place of my home, 

You may tell me its history, not that of old Rome." 

She gave me a smile inexpressibly sweet, 

And said: "My dear sir, I will truly repeat 

The incidents asked for, if j^ou are sincere, 

For that is my mission and why I am here. 

Ivong, long ere the county was formed I was here 

With the hunters who hunted the elk and the deer ; 

And when this good land was a wilderness dark, 

I passed up the river with I^ewis and Clark, 

And stopped with our boats at the mouth of the Kaw. 

How rough was the country ! The scenes that we saw 

Were wild and forbidding. How different they 

From the bustle of business we see there to-day ! 

I^ater on yet, on a subsequent page, 

I recorded the building of old Fort Osage. 

I was there with the soldiers and Sibley awhile, 

And I have not forgotten the fertile Six-mile; 

While further west then, between the two Blues, 

The rich virgin soil still lay in disuse — 

The richest the crow had flown over, 'twas said, 

But still it was marked by the Indian's tread. 

How grand were its forests ! how fertile its lawns ! 

But it lay far away and beyond the beyond"fe. 

With trappers and traders and bold mountain men 

On their way to the West, I passed over it then; 

With Choteau, and Sublette, and Walker, and those 

Who drove their ox teams and to eminence rose. 



the; muse op history, 407 

But a change was approaching 'twas fast coming on; 

Emigration was pressing, the Indians were gone; 

The squatter's log cabin was here and there seen, 

With the small patch of corn in its dark robe of green; 

And the hardy backwoodsman, with rifle in hand, 

Was monarch of all he surveyed in the land. 

I could tell you the names of those sturdy men now, 

Who cut down the forest, and describe to you how 

The hardships of pioneer life they endured, 

And how by their labors a home was secured. 

The Dealys, and Baxters, and Adams I knew, 

Christison, Majors, and Swearingen too, 

lyewis, and Wilson, and Burris, and Creek, 

Bogard, and Noland, and Gregg, not to speak 

Of Fristoe, McCoy, and Savage, and Scott, 

McClellan, and Davis, and hundreds that's not 

Necessary to mention. I need not to dwell — 

Suffice it that I can their history tell. 

And tell you the manner of living there then. 

As social, unselfish, and hard-working men; 

How emigrants settled like bees that had swarmed. 

Till hundreds were here and a county was formed; 

How the town was laid out — Independence, I mean — 

And who were the principal actors therein ; 

Who bought the first lot in the town — A. C. Adair — 

And who the first county officials then were ; 

Who held the first court — his honor, Judge Todd — 

And the men who first preached repentance toward God; 

First lawyers, first doctors, first tradesmen who wrought. 

First teachers of schools and the places where taught ; 

These and many more things I can tell, 

That occurred in the county in which you now dwell; 

I could tell you a tale of the Mormons you see. 

And the trouble that came in the year thirty-three; 

How it all came about, how it ended at last, 

In expelling them all to the far distant West; 

And then, in the Mexican War be it said, 

A hundred brave soldiers, by Doniphan led. 

Volunteers from the county, disdaining fatigue. 

To Santa Fe marched over many a league. 



4o8 



RURAI^ RHYMKS AND OI^DKN TIMKS. 



There planted the flag of their country, and then 
Pushed on to Chihuahua, those soldierly men, 
A thousand miles further, with unblanching cheeks- 
Eclipsing the march of the ten thousand Greeks — 
And returned to their homes in a year, more or less. 
And many of them are still living, I guess; 
Of the War of Rebellion I also could tell. 
Which the people of Jackson remember too well. 
But the night is fast waning — I'll bid you adieu; 
This scroll contains all, I will leave it with you ; 
A history true of the count}^ you'll find. 
And to publish it faithfully you are enjoined." 
The goddess then left me, I saw her no more; 
But this is the history she left me, I'm sure. 



CONGRA TULA TIONS. 



To David Holloway, by his friends, at a Thanksgiving in 1885. 

How appropriate 'tis, as we socially meet 
With our father, our brother, and friend, 

To thank the good L,ord who has guided our feet, 
And to pray for a guide to the end ! 

How appropriate, too, that we each and all here 

Our congratulations bestow 
Upon this the aged and the good pioneer, 

Whom to love is only to know ! 

Accept, kind friend and the friend of mankind, 

The congratulations we give ; 
The most of your days we know are behind, 

But we trust you have many to live. 



May the God you have served so long and so well 

Preserve you for some future good; 
And when he shall call you with loved ones to dwell, 

You'll be missed in your old neighborhood. 



CONGRATULATION.S. 409 

We know you have loved ones who've gone on before: 

A partner for near thirty years ; 
Two children also, on that far distant shore, 

Who shared of your love and of hers. 

They've gone on before, they wait for you there, 

With other loved ones of the past; 
And whatever your sorrows and labors be here, 

You'll rest from those labors at last. 

And when God in His wisdom shall call you away. 
You will meet with those loved ones again; 

For well we are persuaded, dear friend Holloway, 
That your faith and your trust are not vain. 

Your friends and your neighbors in you recognize 

A pioneer faithful and true, 
Whose old-fashioned virtues and truth we will prize 

Wherever such virtues we view. 

We meet with you here on this festival day. 

In your home for the last forty years. 
To socially pass a few hours away 

With one of the old pioneers. 

Your sons and your daughters, your neighbors and 
friends. 

Your brethren in fellowship true. 
Unitedly now as a unit extends 

Their congratulations to you. 

With gratitude swelling our every heart, 
To Him who has prospered your ways, 

We pray that His favors He still will impart, 
In the evening now of your days. 

In thankfulness, too, we call to our mind 
What you and your comrades have done ; 

Those old pioneers, how few do we find ! 
And they are leaving us one after one. 



4TO 



RURAiv rhyme;s and oldkn times. 



'Twas then to a laud of no churches 3^ou came, 
But you trusted the da3dight would dawn; 

You lifted the cross in the Crucified's name, 
And your labors will tell when you've gona. 

From beginnings so small and so humble you've seen 

The church in the wilderness grow; 
And through channels and instrumentalities mean 

The blessings continue to flow. 

Forgive us, old friend, if our words cause you pain ; 

Remembrances crowd on you fast, 
And perhaps recollections are called up again, 

That were buried with friends of the past. 

No doubt, honored friend, you are calling to mind 

Those champions so valiant for truth. 
Who toiled herewith you and with you were then joined, 

In the days of your manhood and youth. 

There was Jackson, and Farmer, and Griffin, all true, 

Those pioneer Baptists of old; 
And Stephens, and Brady, and others you knew. 

Of whom you need not to be told. 

You remember them well, though long it has been, 

Since with you they socially met; 
But often in memory you will see them again, 

And their kindness you'll never forget. 

The years will continue to come and to go, 

And we who are here will go too ; 
May we be remembered by those that we know, 

As those friends are remembered by you. 

When Thanksgiving days in the future shall come, — 
And may the good custom ne'er end, — 

D. HoUoway's name will be spoken by some 
Who have known him as Christian and friend. 



A SUNDAY-SCHOOIv SPEKCH. 41I 

Though dead to survivors on earth, you will speak, 

By actions performed in this life ; 
By a walk at once truthful and fearless and meek, 

Through a land of probation and strife. 

And now, at the close, again we would say, 

Our congratulations accept ; 
And in the dark future, come whatever may. 

May you by His power be kept. 



A SUNDAY-SCHOOL SPEECH. 



■\Trittea for the occasion, and read before the Lone Jack Sunday Schoo 1 
on Children's Day, 1885. 

A word to the girls and the boys, 

And to some that are older than they : 

Remember that life and its joys 
Are fleeting and hasting away. 

lyittle girls, let me tell you to-day, 

I once was as young as you are ; 
Was once quite as thoughtless and gay, 

If my prospects were not quite so fair. 

Since then, many things I have learned, 
Amongst them the important truth: 

The moments are never returned 

That are squandered away in our youth. 

Remember that Time's moving on. 
For a moment he never stands still ; 

Soon, very soon, will your school-days be gone, 
And a place in stern life you must fill. 



412 RURAI, RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

Your teachers are training you now 
With honor your station to grace. 

lyittle girls, will you strive to learn now 
The things you will need in life's race? 

You now are preparing to live — 
You cannot be said to live yet ; 

Your hearts unto Wisdom then give, 
And her precepts strive not to forget. 

Remember that all is not gold 
That glitters and pleases the eye ; 

Remember that dangers untold 
In the paths of deceitfulness lie. 

The snares of the tempter when spread 
May please, and may well-nigh allure ; 

But shun them, dear girls, and instead, 
Walk on in the path that is sure. 

lyittle boys, a word to you too ; 

Many things I have said to the girls 
Will apply with as much force to 5^ou 

As to them, with their bright sunny curls. 

You too are preparing for life 
And the stations you shortly must fill; 

You too should prepare for the strife 
That is coming — for surely it will. 

Not long until you will be called 
To fill stations now filled by the men — 

And when in such stations installed, 
Be prepared to grace them well then. 

" Little fellows" they are calling you now; 

You are not very large, it is true. 
But Washington, all will allow. 

Was once quite as little as you. 



A' SUNDAY-SCHOOL SPEECH. 413 

And Cleveland, that man of renown, 

Our President that is to be. 
Stood once as far away down 

As some of the boys I now see. 

Then set your mark high, little boys, 

And never, no, never forget 
That he who his time well employs 

To the top of the ladder may get. 

Remember that talented men. 

The greatest our nation can boast, 
Have come from low down in the glen — 

From the den of the wretched almost. 

But while you look up, little boy. 

To those talented men of renown, 
Although 'twill your feelings annoy, 

I'd have you sometimes to look down — 

Deep down in the depths of disgrace, 

In infamy's ranks you may view 
Some men who in infancy's days. 

Were as promising boys as you; 

Perhaps in a prison's dark cell. 

Shut out from the light by its doors. 

You'll see those who a story could tell 
Of a boyhood as happy as yours; 

Or perhaps 'neath the dark gallows-tree 

A man, once the pride and the joy 
Of a fond parent's heart, as happy and free 

And as harmless as you are, my boy. 

I^et me tell 5'ou, 'tis not what you are 

That tells what the future will be, 
So much as what you may do, and the care 

With which from the tempter you flee. 



414 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

But the boy that studies and delves, 
Away from the vicious and vain, 

The boys that depend on themselves. 
If they fall, will rise up again. 

And now to those older than they. 
Young ladies and gentlemen too, 

A few things I thought I would say ; 
I intended a few things for you. 

You are no longer children in years, 

Your school-time days have all gone by; 

And from everything now that appears. 
You have knowledge much more than I. 

For this reason I'll shorten my talk — 

Already I've spoken too long. 
Though in different paths you may walk. 

May none of those paths lead you wrong. 

You heard w^hat I said to the boys. 
You heard what I said to the girls ; 

Though my thoughts may be treated as toys, 
I'd have them treasured as pearls. 

You are children a little more grown, 
And on the same road they must pass; 

Take the lessons and make them your own — 
They'll apply, I believe, to your case. 

There is one thing I think should be said. 
And I'll say it, and then I will close: 

The boys and girls maj^ be led 
By example, as everyone knows. 



And as you are now traveling ahead 
Yo'u are leaders, just leading the van ; 

lyct not your example be bad, 
But set the best pattern you can. 



THE TRAMPING POKT. 415 

There's another thing too I would say, 

But my time is expiring too soon : 
Young man, young viaji, keep away, 

Keep away from "dx^ fatal saloon. 



THE TRAMPING POET. 



Twa€ an evening in autumn when slowly there came 

To our dwelling a feeble and gray-headed man, 
A stranger to us, and we knew not his name. 

But this conversation at once he began : 
" I am wayworn and weary, and fain would I rest ; 

A lodging with 3^ou most humbly I crave. 
I have oft rested here, and have here been a guest 

Of those who now sleep in the cold, silent grave. 

" 'Twas here in this dwelling, 'twas here on this farm. 

By a pioneer made in the long time ago, 
That I once found a treasure and once felt the charm 

That a virtuous love upon man can bestow. 
It was here that my Mary in childhood did dwell 

And grew up as a flower ; but now she is dead. 
It' was here in this house, I remember how well! 

That Mary and I in the spring-time were wed. 

" Many winters and summers have come and have gone. 

And many the changes that I have passed through. 
But for forty-odd years I have not stood upon 

Or looked on the farm as this evening I do. 
Let me rest once again in the old house, I pray, 

Where love to dear Mary in youth was disclosed, 
Where many years since — forty-seven last May — 

She and I in this house for the last time reposed. 



4i6 



RURAI. RHYMES AND OLDKN TIMES. 



"You say I am welcome ; I thought I would be, 

But, oh, not so welcome by half as of yore ! 
Strange, strange are the faces of all that I see, 

And the faces I saw then I'll never see more; 
For Mary has left me her absence to mourn. 

With other loved ones in the graveyard she lies, 
And for twenty-eight years in my breast I have borne 

A heart that is widowed and burdened with sighs. 

"And where is that father, that pioneer who 

Full sixty years past built a home on this spot ? 
And where is the mother of Mary so true ? 

If I call for them now, they will answer me not. 
Those brothers and sisters I look for in vain ; 

Some sleep far away from their ancestral home. 
And those who survive I may ne'er see again— 

A thousand full miles to the westward they roam." 



Next morning he thankfully bade us farewell. 

His tearful eye wandered the scenery o'er. 
" Farewell to the home where my Mary did dwell; 

Farewell, and perhaps I shall see it no more. 
How changed is the scenery! how changed everything 

And I too am changed as much as are they. 
And like the last leaf on the bough I now cling 

Till the winds of the winter shall bear me away. 



"Perhaps I shall never repose here again ; 

Ivike a leaf I may fall in a far distant land, 
But till then I'll remember how kind you have been 

And be thankful for favors received at your hand." 

He left us a volume of poetry fine, 

A volume of poems — products of his pen ; 

We've read and admired most every line, 
And gladly would welcome the poet again. 



SHORT SEJRMON BY A I^AYMAN, 417 

SHORT SERMON BY A LAYMAN. 



Text: II. Samuel xiv. 14. " For man must needs die, and is as water 
spilt upon the ground, that cannot be gathered again." 

It is a truth which none deny, 
Mankind in every age must die 

And go we know not whither; 
Like water spilled upon the ground, 
The particles can not be found 

Nor brought again together. 

Though water on the earth be spilled, 
'Tis soon by sun and air distilled — 

Annihilated never. 
So man may die and pass away. 
The body molder and decay, 

But spirit lives forever. 

The particles of body too 

Will still exist, though lost to view 

And widely, widely scattered. 
The form may change, and change again. 
As vapor rises from the rain 

That on the roof has pattered. 

We see the rain, we see the snow. 
We see the hail, and we can know, 

And measure well their density; 
But when in vapor they arise 
We see it not, as toward the skies 

It floats in vast immensity. 

And so with man ; we see him here, 
But when he quits this mortal sphere 

We lose at once his presence ; 
He's gone, we say, but know not where; 
In heaven or earth, in sea or air, 

Enduring is his essence. 



-37-- 



'1 



41 8 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDKN TIMES. 

No time can e'er annihilate 
What God, the maker, did create. 

Till He, the maker, chooses. 
'Tis ever, ever changing form, 
lyike water in a calm or storm. 

Which naught of moisture loses. 

Dead matter lives as long as Time; 
And then there is a thought sublime : 

That when the Judge comes hither. 
The atoms scattered far and wide. 
That formed the body ere it died. 

Will come again together. 

And then there is another thought, 
The teect to mind has often brought. 

And should be present ever: 
lyike water spilt upon the ground. 
Lost opportunities are found 

But seldom, may be never. 

When traveling o'er a burning sand, 
A cup of water held in hand 

Might quench your thirst and save you; 
But if you carelessly should spill 
That water, it will ne'er fulfill 

The hope of life it gave you. 

There is a song that has been sung 
In many lands by many a tongue, 

'Mongst simple truths we've classed it; 
The moral of that song is plain : 
The mill will never grind again 

With water that has passed it. 

Then let us say to every youth, 
Impress upon your mind this truth, 
And nevermore forget it : 



SHORT SERMON BY A LAYMAN. 419 

If Opportunity you miss, 
By indolence or carelessness, 

lyong time you may regret it. 

If opportunity we spurn, 

Too late the solemn truth we learn, 

A truth we are slow in learning: 
The opportunity once lost 
Is like a bridge that has been crossed, 

O'er which there's no returning. 

Sometimes we take a step in haste, 
And by that step the die is cast. 

And if we wrongly cast it, 
To call it back will be in vain ; 
The mill will never grind again 

With water that has passed it. 

Our Maker said, and says to-day : 
"My Spirit shall not strive alway 

With men of my creation." 
Then if the Spirit calls to-day, 
O yield at once, the call obey; 

Accept the great salvation. 

The Spirit's call may be withdrawn; 
Your chance for mercy then is gone 

If you away have cast it. 
To call it back will be in vain ; 
The mill will never grind again 

With water that has passed it. 



420 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

THE OLD MEETING-HOUSE. 



Yon building sheltered in the wood, 
With moldy and unpainted wall, 

A history has which surely should 
My fondest memories recall. 

A house of worship long ago, 

Of late years seldom occupied-; ■ . 
The worshipers in death lie low, 

Or else in distant lands abide. 

A thousand congregations bow 

And chant their hymns in churches grand, 
But this old house I'm viewing now 

Bespeaks the first one in the land. 

When for the first religious band 

Historians hereafter search, 
The first within this goodly land 

Was Pleasant Garden Baptist Church. 

If we except the mission school 
For Indians placed on the Osage, 

This was the opening vestibule, 
Which led to Christian heritage. 

And now this heritage obtained, 

Of thousand churches well composed ; 

The vestibule is still retained, 

Although 'tis now so nearly closed. 

And looking on this empty fold, 

There came a thought by memory nursed : 
This house, although so seeming old. 

Is not the one thej^ builded first. 



THE OLD MKETING-HOUSK. 42 1 

Ah, no ! a few miles west of this, 

There stood a grove on rising ground, 

And in an opening interstice, 

Their house of worship first was found. 

But memory leads me further yet. 

And further in the past it roams; 
I see these Christians as they met 

To worship in their cabin homes. 

No house of public worship then ; 

They needed not the sounding bell 
To call to prayer those pious men; 

They knew the hour — observed it well. 

And when the minister appeared. 
In homespun coat or hunting-shirt, 

The careless sinner might have heard 
Those Christians sing in sweet concert; 

Or, listening to his words apart, 

They noted not his homely coat, 
But his appeals from burning heart. 

And not from manuscript or note. 

Full well I know whereof I speak, 
For I was of those careless ones — 

Admiring what I did not seek: 
The character of heaven-born sons. 

Month followed month, to years they grew, 
Baptists increased within the land; 

My father and my mother too 
Were added to the struggling band. 

And other names more worthy still 

Were in that company enrolled, 
And converts true with a good will 

Were welcomed to the Shepherd's fold. 



^^ 



422 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

Then they resolved in thirty-seven, 
As David did in ancient days, 

To build unto the God of heaven 
A house of prayer, a house of praise. 

'Twas simple, plain, and somewhat rude; 

Not built for show, but use divine; 
A wall of logs, and some were hewn 

By these now feeble hands of mine. 

Materials for that house of God 
Were brought by many a willing hand 

That now is resting 'neath the sod, 

Near where that house of God did stand. 

On certain days the sons of toil 

With axe and hammer, saw and plane, 

Would come, and, laboring for the while, 
Would set the day to come again. 

And thus did they the house uprear, 
A temple of the living lyord ; 

-Believing He would answer prayer 
And give His servants their reward. 

To Him they dedicated it, 

A house of praise, a house of prayer ; 
And some, no doubt, are living yet 

Who date their souls' conversion there. 

The fruitful seasons came and went. 
And Pleasant Garden grew apace ; 

The gardeners that the Master sent 
Were ministers of heavenly grace. 

I need not call their names to-day. 
Though memory holds them ever dear; 

Self-sacrificing preachers they, 
Whose hopes and treasures were not here. 



THE OLD MEETING-HOUSE. 423 

And one of them, a cliampion brave, 
My memory tells me, long ago • 

I^ed me into the liquid grave, 

A death and burial forth to show. 

But as it was in Joseph's day. 

Those fruitful years came to an end ; 

There came a languishing decay. 

Which seemingly did death portend. 

I need not dwell upon the cause. 

If I the cause could even know; 
The Spirit's work appeared to pause. 

And Pleasant Garden ceased to grow. 

'Tis said that there is no result 

But what has had its primary cause; 

And we will find, if we consult. 
That this is one of Nature's laws. 

Perhaps — 'tis just a thought of mine — 

The blight originated thus, 
" My judgment differing from thine " 

In things not needful to discuss : 

One zealous brother, overwise. 

Would have his brethren read the book 

Through spectacles that suit his eyes. 
And through his glasses ever look ; 

While they refuse to humor him, 

As loving brothers sometimes should. 

Avowing, though their eyes are dim, 
That they have glasses just as good — 

Nay, even better, some contend. 
And straightway try to prove it so; 

And thus they wrangle without end 
O'er things no mortal man can know: 



424 RURAI, RHYMES AND OI<DKN TIMES. 

About the work of saving grace, 
'And when redemption's work began; 

How much is due Christ's righteousness, 
And how much agency in man; 

One brother striving hard to prove 
The work was finished and complete 

Before the earth began to move 
Around the central source of heat; 

That God His work will carry on 
In every age, in all the world. 

And His elect ones all be drawn, 
While others are to ruin hurled; 

Some widely differing from him, 

To differ only not content, 
They'd have him drop that theorem 

Of predetermined punishment; 

They'd have him once for all admit 
That something must be done by man ; 

That though God does the work, 'tis yet 
By agencies He works His plan; 

That man a mission has on earth. 

That mission he must here perform — 

That mission work, it seems, gave birth 
Unto the cloud that brought the storm. 

But whether it was this or that, 
'Tis needless now to speculate; 

Those who in union long had sat 
Unfortunately separate. 

Those who withdrew took other name. 
Of thcfee I've nothing now to say; 

But Pleasant Garden Church became 
A waning star from that sad day. 



THE OLD MEETING-HOUSE. 425 

lu after years, its name retained, 

When more were dead and buried there 

Than living on its rolls remained, 

They sold that house and builded here. 

That old log temple moved away. 
Its site we scarcely now can find; 

But vividly its form to-day 
Is well imprinted on the mind. 

And as my natural eyes behold 

This structure as it fast decays. 
The eye of memory, uncontrolled, 

Still turns to that of by-gone days. 

And when I meet the few who meet, 

As here of late I seldom do, 
Of those who there I once did greet 

How few, alas ! how very few ! 

And memory then calls back the day. 

Brothers and sisters I behold 
Who gave me leave to go my way 

And join some other Christian fold. 

When from that church I parted then. 

It numbered sixty-five or more; 
And now, alas ! 'tis less than ten, 

And half of these ne'er cross the floor. 

Of those I parted with that day, 

One worshiper alone remains 
A member of the church to-day. 

And she that character maintains. 

This house, connected with the now, 

Speaks of the world's fast changing ways 

That other's image still somehow 
Speaks of its past and better days. 



426 RURAI, RHYMES AND OI.DKN TIMKS. 

How rare the few now living, led 
By true devotion, here repair! 

But oh, the many, many dead 
Are constantly reposing there! 

The branches of my family tree, 
And other family trees as well, 

I^opped off, are laid promiscuously. 
As many a marble stone will tell. 

While many a Christian warrior sleeps, 
With nothing there to mark the spot; 

But God above a record keeps — 
They and their deeds are not forgot. 

And He who has the power to raise 
Those who in death so long have lain, 

Perhaps will, in the future days. 
Revive this feeble church again. 

It's had a winter long and cold. 

And drearily the months have passed ; 

Though tarrying long, may we behold 
The genial spring-time come at last. 

We may not judge or lay the blame. 
If blame there be, on these or those; 

No mortal man should ever claim 
God's ways or purpose to disclose. 

Taunt not the weak and languishing, 
As Job was taunted by his friends. 

That God their faults is punishitig 

When trouble on their heads descends. 

Hard trials they have waded through. 
Hard names to them are often given : 

Hard-shell, and Iron-jacket too, 

And more than that, Two-seeders even. 



UNCIvE SAM S BOTANIC GARDKN. 



427 



Whatever wrong view they may hold, 
We'll hope that they true Christians are; 

And when they reach the Master's fold, 
God grant that we may meet them there. 



UNCLE SAM'S BOTANIC GARDEN. 



mathe;maticai, probIvE^m. 




\ J A K 





Our Uncle Sam resolved to plant 
A grand botanic garden. 

And dress it out in style as gay 
As any Dolly Varden. 



428 RURAL RHYMES AND OI.DEN TIMES. 

His engineer surveyed it out, 

A circle true as could be, 
7 hree hundred rods diameter 

Within the walls it should be. 
He dug an artificial lake 

Within that garden's limit, 
And turned a stream of water there 

That pleasure-boats might skim it; 
This lake a perfect circle too, 

So large we often wondered, 
For, measuring across, in rods 

'Twas sixty plus a hundred. 
It touched the garden's western wall. 

Just touched and tangent to it; 
Southeast of this he placed a grove, 

With pleasant walks all through it ; 
The grove, a circle too, exact. 

Touched lake and garden limit ; 
A pleasant place it was indeed. 

And ninety acres in it. 
Another circle touching this. 

Touched garden, wall, and waters ; 
Intended for a bowling-green 

For sporting sons and daughters. 
How large it was I need not say — 

'Twas large as circle could be 
Within the space that lay between, 

And graded as it should be. 
And circle after circle then 

Successive took their places. 
Each one as large as could be drawn 

Within the vacant spaces ; 
And these were filled with choicest fruits, 

Or else with fairest flowers. 
Until it looked for all the world 

lyike one of Kden's bowers. 



GKOMETRICAL PROBLKM. 429 

Now, all ye civil engineers 

In Uncle Sam's domains, 
Tell me how large the circles here, 

How much each one contains ; 
Mark in succession as to size, 

And their position fix; 
Tell their diameters, at least 

The largest fifty-six. 



GEOMETRICAL PROBLEM. 



/ 

/ \ : \ 



« i 
> I 



\ 



D ji B I 






/*7\ 



Two circles touching the same line, (A and B) 

Must also touch each other ; 
Diameters as four to nine 

Compare with one another; 
An acre in the two there is 

When we the two combine. 
Now draw two circles touching both, 

And touching the same line ; (C and D) 
Another circle then assign, 

Touching the larger two 
And also touching the same line, (E) 

No tangent thereunto. 



i 



430 RURAL RHYMKS AND OLDEN TIMES. 

Now tell the size of each of these 

(Diameters, I mean), 
And tell the size, if we should please 

Draw others in between, 
Bach one as large as you can find 

A space in which to put it. 
Perhaps you'll solve the problem true, 

But seriously I doubt it. 



DECORATE THEIR GRAVES. 



Written for the occasion, and spoken by one of the flower-strewing girls 
at Lone Jack, Decoration Day, 1885. 

Sleeping 'neath the sward 

Where the lone tree grew, 
I/ying side by side 

Are the gray and the blue; 
On the field of battle 

Where so gallantly they fell, 
I^ong time they've rested here. 

Resting peacefully and well. 
Strew the fairest flowers 

Above the fallen braves. 
Decorate with flowers 

The sleeping soldiers' graves, 
Making no distinction 

Between the blue and gray, 
For the storm of war is over 

And the clouds have rolled away. 
Decorate alike, decorate alike, 

No North or South is known ; 
Decorate alike and honor all alike, 

For the country now is one ; 
And with sympathy so true 

We will honor them to-day. 
The men who wore the blue 

And the men who wore the gra)^, 
The loyal men in blue 

And the Southern ones in gra}^ 



DECORATE THEIR GRAVES. 43 1 

On the field of battle 

Where they fought, bled, and died. 
Silently they're sleeping, 

Resting side by side. 
Honest in belief, 

Bach thought that he was right, 
And dared to do and die 

In that summer morning's fight. 
Strew their graves with flowers, 

Strew them all around; 
I,et them shed their fragrance 

Upon this hallowed ground. 
I^et no party feeling 

Be known or felt to-day; 
We are brothers to the blue, 

And are brothers to the gray. 
Decorate alike, decorate alike. 

No North or South we know, 
Docorate alike and honor all alike. 

The gallant friend or foe ; 
And with sympathy to-day 

We will equal honor do 
To men who wore the gray 

And the men who wore the blue; 
The Southern were in gray 

And the loyal ones in blue. 

Sleeping 'neath the sunshine, 

Sleeping 'neath the rain, 
Enmity all buried. 

They will never strive again. 
Enemies they once were, 

And fought as soldiers should ; 
Resting now in quiet 

Where the lone tree stood. 
Decorate their graves 

With the tributes that you bring, 
Decorate their graves 

With the blossoms of the spring, 



432 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

Making no distinction 

Between the blue and gray, 
For the strife has long been over 

And we live in peace to-day. 
Decorate alike, decorate alike, 

No North or South is known ; 
Decorate alike and honor all alike. 

For we are now in union one ; 
And with sympathy profound 

We will honor them to-day 
By scattering flowerets round 

O'er the blue and o'er the gray, 
The loyal men in blue 

And Confederate ones in gray. 



HALF A CENTURY AGO. 



Poem read before the old settlers' meeting at Harrisonville, i8SS 

Old pioneer friends, we meet once again — 
An occasion it should be of joy and gladness; 

But the pleasure, alas! is commingled with pain. 
And the joy of meeting is tempered b}^ sadness. 

When we think of the many who are absent to-day 
And the cause of that absence remember; 

The friends who were with us in life's sunny May 
Now gone in its cold and cheerless December. 

We pass through the crowd as a stranger might pa!ss, 
And we see but a few, a few 'mongst the many 

Of the old pioneers of the county of Caps ; 

Of remembered old comrades we see scarcely any. 

But let us not cloud our enjoyments today 
By our grievings or by useless repinings. 

But rather give thanks to the Master alway 

That His sun in the evening of life is still shining; 



HAI,F A CENTURY AGO. 433 

That our lives have been spared and we are still here, 
Though only a few, a very few now remaining; 

With grateful hearts freely accept the good cheer. 
And cloud not the scene by useless complaining. 

I^et's enjoy the present — not long will it last; 

Indulging to-day in fond retrospections, 
We will talk of the present, but more of the past, 

And call to the mind the old recollections. 

Recollections of youth and our pioneer days, 

When first with each other acquainted. 
When the sunlight of youth with its mystical rays 

Our prospects in life so gaudily painted. 

We will talk of those days, so different from these 
Through which we old fossils are passing and living, 

And every day more of man's selfishness sees, 
As all are for getting and so few are for giving. 

How great are the changes! how changed are the scenes! 

We no longer see the wide-spreading prairie. 
In summer-time clothed in its mantle of greens, 

In winter so cold, so cheerless and dreary. 

How many the changes we've witnessed since then ! 

How different now are men's habits and actions! 
And things that were thought beyond human ken 

Now simple and plain to the mind's satisfaction. 

The plain, simple methods of farming no more 
By progressive men are used and employed. 

But if they've made much improvement, I'm sure 

They are welcome, quite welcome to all they've enjoyed. 

My pioneer friends, you can call back the time < 
When you came to this land pioneering ; 

You remember it still, so lone, grand, and sublime. 
And so wild in its every feature appearing. 

—as- 



434 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

You think of the first little cab;n you built 

And furnished, so humble, so jJlain, and so sparing, 

And you think of the home-made blanket or quilt 
That for winter-time wife was preparing. 

And you sometimes think of the boys and girls 

Who oftentimes sang in that cabin their carol; 
Those children to you more precious than pearls, 

Though clad in their plain and home-made apparel. 

And some of your friends may be asking to-day, 
"Where, where are those children now straying?" 

From their childhood's home they have wandered away. 
And by the cabin no longer are playing. 

Perhaps, like my own, some sleep in the grave, 

While others are far from you separated; 
Perhaps have forgotten the affection you gave 

And the home that for them your labors created. 

But some of you old folks, I remember it now, 

, Were children, small children when here emigrating; 

'^ut years with their trials have wrinkled the brow 

As they passed you and left you still watching and 
waiting. 

And some of you here to the manor were born, 
You claim it the place of your birth and nativity; 

In the evening of life you look back to the morn : i 

When possessed of more strength and more activity. ' ] 

Away back in the thirties or forties, perhaps, ^yi 

Your thoughts are often, 5^es, oftentirnes turning; ,Ut 

The seasons may change and the years may elapse. 
But your dreams are still the past events concerning. 






You too have seen changes, great changes, since you 

To the years of remembrance and knowledge attained, * 

Took note and remembered, as older ones do, ,.^, 

What the country has lost and what it has gained. 



HALF A CENTURY AGO. 435 

You call back in memory your happy school-days, 
A school boy or girl again in your dreaming, 

Pursuing your studies in the old-fashioned ways 
And methods, so full of simplicity seeming. 

You can see there the school-house, so small and so rude. 
With its old-fashioned fire-place and benches. 

The writing-desk made of a log roughly hewed, 
And the master's rod too, worn out by inches. 

And something you knew of that wearing process, 

And could tell us the cause of that frazzle, 
A remembrance of which, you'll own and confess, 
* Is not much calculated the mind's eye to dazzle. 

You remember your school-mates, but where are they now? 

All gone from the land, or they are fast disappearing ; 
One after one, you can scarcely tell us how, 

Gone from your sight and are all out of hearing. 

You think of some events in the times long ago, 
Some things the historian has nevei recorded. 

The hardships, the trials and dangers you know, 
Your labor of love and how much 'twas rewarded. 

You have witnessed the changes as one after one 

They came and they passed, and you oftentimes wonder 

How your boys could do the things you have done 
As well and the same disadvantages under. 

And they too, perhaps, with wonder would pale. 
Could they but look back and witness your labors; 

With scythe and cradle, with reap-hook and flail, 

You harvested grain like your friends and your neighbors. 

And how would they stare could they witness it now, 
On what was then truly a wild, wide prairie : 

Full six yoke of oxen hitched up to one plow, 
The barshare of old or the old clumsy carey. 



436 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

The flax -brake of that day, should your boys meet with one, 
They never would guess truly its name or its uses. 

Any more than you yourself would have done 
With the telegraph wire and to what it conduces. 

You know it was written or spoken in Solomon's day, 
Nothing new upon this the great planet of ours ; 

But it does not apply, perhaps you will say. 
To modern machines and mechanical powers. 

When first you came here, you remember it still, 

Your wheat was not cut and bound with self-binders. 

And 3^our flour was not made on a steam roller mill — 
Glad to get it you were from the horse-power grinders. 

These and such things you remember well yet. 

And I think you can never forget them ; 
The hardships and troubles in life that we met, 

And sometimes we are glad that we met them. 

Disappointments and trials that turned out for good, 
When we think of it afterward often surprises ; 

And this truth by all should be well understood : 
That the blessings of life often come in disguises. 

The pioneer women, I see some of them here; 

I/ike me, they are feeble, old, and gray-headed. 
Have struggled and toiled through many a year. 

Since they to their husbands and country were wedded. 

A word to those ladies whose lots were here cast, 
To you and your memories I now am appealing ; 

You remember your labors some fifty years past. 
In carding and spinning and winding and reeling. 

The fabrics that clothed husband, wife, and the child. 
All came from the toil of the women in spinning ; 

And though at the wheel you labored and toiled. 
That toiling was neither the end nor beginning. 



hAi,f a century ago. 437 

You planted the cotton, then hoed out the weeds, 
And then in the autumn or fall came the picking; 

You picked out the cotton, then picked out the seeds, 
As the clock toward the midnight was ticking. 

Ah, yes ! I remember, you pulled the flax, too, 

And afterwards swingled and hackled and spun it, 

Which is more than our modern young women can do — 
At least I know none in late years that have done it. 

You remember the cooking before the stove came, 
With its pots and its pans, the skillet and kettles ; 

Your kitchen and parlor the same little room, 

That served as a store-house for clothing and victuals. 

But the swinging pot-rack and the johnny-cake board 
No longer are seen in the old-fashioned kitchen. 

And the venison ham and the bee's luscious hoard 
Your larders and tables no longer enrichen. 

You remember the old-fashioned oven and lid, 
As the hickory coals you were heaping upon it. 

Meanwhile from the fire your faces you hid 

By the coarse and homely old-fashioned splint-bonnet. 

But enough of all this ; those things have gone by. 
Or the few that remain are surely fast leaving, 

And 'tis useless for us to look back and to sigh, 
And embitter old age by our pining or grieving. 

Notwithstanding the many great changes, old friends, 
We see something yet that tends to remind us ; 

An action or circumstance oftentimes tends 

To call up a thought of the years now behind us. 

Human nature, they saj^ is the same everywhere : 
In all time the same object — self-interest pursuing ; 

And that foible in us our grandchildren share. 

Are doing many things now that we once were doing. 



fl 



438 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

We are meeting politicians and candidates here ; 

We had demagogues then, you remember, 
Who treated and spouted till August each year. 

But they keep it up now till the ides of November. 

You remember the cider campaign, I've no doubt, 
In the year of our I^ord eighteen hundred and forty, 

When the Whigs and the Democrats stubbornly fought, 
Assaulting each other by alternate sortie. 

Perhaps you remember the songs that were sung, 
Of Tippecanoe and the buckeye log cabin. 

The slanderous epithets back and forth flung. 
Each candidate's character cruelly stabbing. 

One candidate then, a wily magician, you know. 
The other was called an old petticoat granny. 

And slander was stalking the land to and fro. 
From Maine in the north to extreme lyouisiana. 

Is there one here to-day, this concourse amid. 

Is there a single old Tippecanoer, 
Who voted for Harrison then as I did ? 

I think there is one, yes, one, I am sure. 

Forty-eight years have passed us since then. 
And other great candidates now are competing. 

How many will vote for his grandson Ben, 
In the year that history itself is repeating. 

Some of you voted for Van Buren then, 

And your country you thought you were serving; 

Perhaps j^ou will vote Democratic again. 
For a man that you think more deserving. 

Old pioneer voters, we number but few. 

We know that our voting days soon will be over, 

Not long can v/e vote for friend Tippecanoe, 

Not long can we vote for our other friend, Grover. 



HAI,F A CENTURY AGO. 439 

The race we are running will shortly be run, 

Nearly all of life's journey behind us ; 
The short space before is dark and unknown, 

And we know not how much is assigned us. 

And if on the railroad in fancy we ride, 

Soon the conductor will call out the station ; 

May the loved ones be waiting our footsteps to guide 
To a better and more blessed habitation. 

The friends that we knew in the morning of life 

Have run and have finished the journey before us — 

The husband, the~ daughter, the son, or the wife, 
The brother, the father, or mother that bore us. 

And man)^, ah! many an old pioneer 

That we knew in life's early beginning 
Has been taken away from us year after year. 

And year after year our ranks have been thinning. 

Those old pioneers, you can call them to mind; 

Their names to you now will need no rehearsing; 
Those friends and those neighbors, so generous and kind, 

Whose every virtue your memory is nursing. 

You often have met them as we meet to-day. 
And joined in a social reunion so pleasant; 

And another twelvemonth may not pass away 

Till you hear of the death of some that are present. 

"When the old settlers meet the next year in your town. 
Some friend that is prized and respected so greatly 

May be absent from you, as our friend Robert Brown 
Is absent to-day, who left us so lately. 

It cannot be long and not long will it be 

Till you young folks who give us your greeting 

In meetings like this will in vain look to see 

The old men and old women you see in this meeting. 



440 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

The years will continue to come and to go, 

And the world will move on and on much as ev^r 

But these old ones, with step so feeble and slow, 
Will be gone to return to you never. 

But before we are parted we old settlers avow 
Your esteem and good cheer have quite won us. 

And we would return our thanks to you now 
For the honor we feel that you have done us. 



PILATE'S WIFE'S DREAM. 



'Twas early morn, the sun shone on 

The governor's gilded palace wall; 
A crowd from many a quarter drawn, 

Pressed toward the governor's judgment-hall. 
The priest, the scribe, the Pharisee, 

The noisy Jevv^ish rabble all; 
Something unusual there must be 

To-day in Pilate's judgment-hall. 

A murmur deep, a murmur loud. 

Was heard amid the gathering throng, 

As, bound and bleeding, through the crowd 
A prisoner was led along. 

And now he stands the guards between, 

Nor heeds sarcastic ridicule ; 
A person of majestic mien' 

He looked as one that's born tjo rule; 
With mild, compassionating eye 

The noisy, railing ones observed ; 
Betrayed, and sold, and captured by 

The ones he gladly would have served. 



PILATE'S WIFK'S dream. 441 

But soon a partial hush there came, 

The murmur sank to whispered hums; 
A personage of regal fame, 

The Roman judge, the governor, comes. 
He came into the judgment-hall, 

And on the judgment-seat sat down; 
The representative of all 

Great Caesar's power in David's town. 

While seated on that judgment-seat, 

The arbiter of death or life, 
A message borne by hast}' feet 

To Pilate came from Pilate's wife. 
A thousand messages of kings, 

A thousand lands and realms within, 
Ten thousand thousand greater things 

Are lost and have forgotten been. 

The purport of that message lives. 

And has survived from age to age ; 
The record inspiration gives 

Still stands upon the sacred page. 
"Have naught to do," the message ran, 

"With that just one, arraigned in spite; 
Concerning him, that harmless man, 

I suffered much in dreams last night. 
Harm not the man of Galilee, 

Whom envious men of crime accuse; 
A mighty prophet sure is he, 

If not indeed the king of Jews." 
The features of that troubling dream 

The sacred writer tells us not. 
But they have been long time the theme 

Of fanciful and wondering thought. 

Though suffering much and many a thing 
In that strange dream, as she has said. 

Perhaps, like Babylonia's king, 

Remembrance from the mind had fled. 



442 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

Then till some other dreamer dreams, 

As Daniel did, the dream again. 
Momentous as the vision seems, 

The world in ignorance must remain, 
lyet fancy then in visions see 

And then describe, one after one. 
The incidents so strange, as she 

Unto the governor might have done. 

In visions fanciful or real, 

Sleeping or waking, now I seem 
To hear the governor's wife reveal 

The troubling features of that dream : 
" It was a vision wild and strange, 

Say not to me an idle whim; 
And though the scene did often change. 

The subject of each scene the same; 
And though it lasted but a night. 

How long to me the vision seemed ! 
The years passed by and in their flight 

Of the same object still I dreamed. 
The Caesars' pride and power were gone, 

The Roman world apart was rent. 
But still I lived — my dream went on, 

While centuries came and centuries went. 
How often was I made to weep ! 

How often did I wake in pain, 
And in a moment fall asleep 

And dream it o'er and o'er again ! 

"'Twas in that dream methought I saw 

That harmless man of Galilee 
Arraigned and tried by Jewish law 

And doomed to painful deatlj by thee. 
And with a crown of platted thorn 

In mockery placed upon his head — 
The subject of insult and scorn — 

A king to crucifixion led. 



PII^ATE'S wife's dream. 443 -\ 

And though upon the cross he died ] 

A death of shame and cruel pain, '. 

Was buried, he, the crucified, ; 

Rose from the grave and lived again. 

A king, his kingdom not of earth ; ; 

A king not of the Jews alone ; i 

A king, 'twas said, of heavenly birth, ■] 

And far above the stars his throne. ■ 

And as the years and centuries passed • 

His subjects still were multiplied; ' 

The Roman ensign was displaced . 

B3^ one, the cross on which he died. * i 

" For one who sat on Caesar's throne ; 

That standard in the sky beheld, : 

With the inscription written on : 1 

'Conquer b}^ this, nor be repelled.' < 

And 'neath that banner, as I thought, •* 

The Roman legions onward sped, ' 

An inspiration from it caught, i 

And by it were to victory led. ;; 

And when the Roman empire fell, : 

And like a tower in fragments lay, \ 

Succeeding nations came to swell ^ 

That monarch's train and own his sway. '1 

In lands and countries far away ] 

Methought I saw that banner raised, .; 

And nations that in darkness lay ;; 

Beheld the light that from it blazed. i^ 

" Methought a thousand years had passed ; ] 

The Jewish people all dispersed, i 

Their loved Jerusalem possessed ' 

By those in barbarism nursed. v 

I saw that votaries of the cross, j 

And of him who on the cross had died, i 

lyike Jews bemoaned Jerusalem's loss ' 

And for its ancient glories sighed, ) 



444 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

And they so earnestly desired 

The spot where stands his cross to-day, 
The spot where their loved king expired, 

The sepulchre in which he lay. 
That, marshaled 'neath that banner cross, 

They came from lands beyond the sea, 
From different realms, in one great cause, 

The holy sepulchre to free. 
Sternly and stubbornly they fought 

For what they deemed was holy ground, 
And blood in torrents flowed, methought. 

While years by hundreds rolled around. 

"Then other years by hundreds passed; 

I saw an unknown land, so wide 
It stretched unto the farthest west. 

Unknown to all the world beside ; 
And in that land an unknown race — 

No mortal knew from whence they came — 
Historian could never trace 

Their lineage or beginning name. 
I saw on breezes borne along. 

Across a boundless, unknown sea, 
The image of that cross where hung 

So late that man of Galilee; 
And in his name 'twas planted there 

Upon that foreign, barbarous shore. 
More centuries passed ; no land so fair 

That standard e'er had graced before. 
And from that land 'twas borne again 

To all the barbarous lands of earth, 
The emblem of Messiah's reign. 

The King of Heaven and I^ord of Karth. 

"In all the vagaries of that dream 

One harrowing thought oppressed the mind: 

That he who was of song the theme 
By thee had been to death consigned. 



SLEEPING YONDER. 445 

In every age, in every clime, 

Where'er that cross and story went. 
In every land, and through all time, 

Thy name was with the story blent. 
'Twas execrated, stigmatized. 

As judge unjust by all contemned ; 
No name, methought, so much despised 

As thine, who that just one condemned, 
I cannot tell the agony 

That I endured — no mortal can — 
And when I woke I sent to thee : 

' Have naught to do with that just man.' " 



SLEEPING YONDER. 



Written at the request of the managers, and read at the twenty-fifth 
anniversary of the battle of Lone Jack. 

We meet to-day upon the ground 

Where, five and twenty j^ears ago, 
The god of war in anger frowned 

And let his bolts of thunder go; 
We meet to-day, but not as then ; 

And as the by-gone past we ponder, 
Remembrance calls to mind the men, 

The slain in battle, sleeping yonder. 

A quarter century has passed; 

How brief to us the time appears ! 
We scarce can realize how fast 

Go round the swift-revolving years. 
For five and twenty years have they 

Reposed beneath the sward of heather; 
The loyal blue, the Southern gray 

Reposing there in peace together. 



446 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

They fought as patriots ever should, 

Each one believing he was right ; 
And now, where then the lone tree stood, 

Their ashes mingle and unite. 
Widows and children, orphans left — 

No wives or children could be fonder — 
By the hard fate of war bereft 

Of husbands, fathers, sleeping yonder. 

And when a hundred years have passed, 
. A century to a close has drawn. 
Remembrance of the dead will last, 

And live when we are dead and gone. 
The warriors' fame will never fail, 

'Tis in the nation's friendly keeping; 
The marble shaft will tell the tale, 

"When we, like them, in death are sleeping. 

Mankind have ever honored those 

Who periled life in the defence 
Of liberty, and dared the foes 

Of free and equal governments. 
And though the men who fought that day 

So widely differed in their feeling, 
-Bach thought the cause of justice he 

With his life's blood might then be sealing. 

All honor then to those brave men. 

Of conscientious mind and thought. 
Who for the right, as viewing then. 

So stubbornly and bravely fought. 
A tribute to them all we pay, 

Whatever party or profession. 
The Union soldiery or they 

The honest votaries of secession. 

Though differing with them in the past, 
Why should that difference remain ? 

The strife is o'er, the die is cast, 

And North and South are one again. 



SLEEPING YONDER. 447 

Thank heaven for what a change has come ! 

Nor can we sometimes cease to wonder 
How kindly now we feel toward some 

Of those brave men who are sleeping yonder. 

Not only to the gray and blue 

Who fell upon the battle-field, 
But to surviving comrades too, 

A fitting tribute we would yield. 
They, side by side with those who fell, 

Each for his principles contended. 
And history's living page will tell 

How bravely they their cause defended. 

Surviving heroes of that day. 

Some few of them I see are here ; 
Some of them long have passed away. 

As year still follows after year ; 
Some of them living far away. 

But wheresoever they may wander. 
They'll often call to mind that day, 

And think of comrades sleeping yonder. 

Though Time may steal the years away. 

Their memor}' still will call them back. 
And at each anniversary 

Whisper to them the name Lone Jack ; 
Or in their visions they may see, 

As then, the battle-ranks all serried, 
The face of friend or enemy 

Upon yon highland buried. 

We have met, as oftentimes before, 

By thousands on historic ground. 
Where then was heard the musket's roar. 

The cannon's thrilling, awful sound. 
How little think the nois}^ crowd 

Who thoughtlessly are making merry, 
How many hearts, in anguish bowed. 

Went down that day on yon prairie ! 



448 RURAL RHYMES AND OI.DEN TIMES. 

How little do the crowd reflect 

On what these meetings should be for ! 
The young folks cannot recollect 

The horrors of that cruel war; 
But some of us old ones can feel 

The anxious weight we bore up under 
While listening to the cannon's peal 

As heard upon that highland yonder. 

We should not here insult the dead 

By lightly dancing on their grave, 
Bat with a silent, careful tread 

Approach the spot where sleep the brave ;^ 
And when we meet as now we meet. 

We seriously should think and ponder 
The cost of victory or defeat 

To those brave soldiers sleeping yonder. 

But should we not, some say, rejoice 

That those sad scenes have all passed by ? 
Yes ; with a cheerful heart and voice 

Give thanks to Him who rules on high ; 
To Him who hushed the storm of war, 

And gave the country peace and quiet; 
And pray that wars may come no more, 

With scenes of carnage, blood, and riot. 

As partisans we should not meet 

A party victory to boast — 
The Union has been made complete. 

From Lakes to Gulf, from coast to coast ; 
And friends and kindred once estranged. 

On battle-field who fought each .other. 
Now thank the lyord that times are changed. 

And they again are friends or brother. 

Let victory here be never named, 

Lest some should say that there was none; 

If either party victory claimed, 
In truth 'twas victory dearly won. 



ANNIVERSARY MEETING 449 

A noble victory still remains : 

Past grievances or wrongs forgiving; 

Or, if a prejudice obtains, 

The conquering it or it outliving. 

And when we've left this spot to-day, 

The sleeping dead behind us, 
I trust that past opinions may 

To paths of peace ne'er blind us. 
And may the sacrifice they made 

Upon that summit yonder 
Cause us, when Union's star may fade, 

To cling to it the fonder. 



ANNI VERSAR Y MEE TING. 



Read at the twenty-sixth anniversary of the Lone Jack battle. 

Another year has passed away; 

The anniversary's return 
Brings to our memory the day 

When soldiers met in battle stern. 
Hard by the spot where now we meet. 

They met, and fought, and many fell; 
And annually you think it meet 

To honor them, and that is well. 
When soldiers for their country's weal 

Imperil life or limb for her. 
Their countrymen should grateful feel 

And honors on the brave confer. 
We meet again, but not as they, 

Those soldiers, did in sixty-two — 
The men who wore Confederate gray 

And those who wore the loyal blue. 
Thank heaven, the stormy strife has passed. 

The cruel, bloody war is o'er. 
And peace throughout the country vast 

With order reigns from shore to shore ! 

_39- 



450 RURAI, RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

I^ong may it reign, and never more 

May clash of arms be felt or feared; 
The bayonet's gleam, the cannon's roar, 

No more be seen, no more be heard. 
But should grim war again arise, — 

Though Heaven forbid it ever should! — 
Should storms again obscure the skies 

And darken every neighborhood,- 
May then our country never lack 

Defenders brave, defenders true, 
Ivike those who fought around Lone Jack 

In eighteen hundred and sixty-two. 
And should the country in its need 

Call for its soldiery again, 
O may we never, never read 

Of brother by the brother slain ! 
Remembered are those men to-day 

Who did the tide of battle stem. 
And whether clad in blue or gray 

It mattess not, we'll honor them. 

We honor them for courage bold 

In that day's struggle, fierce and long; 
Our admiration ne'er grows cold. 

Not asking whether right or wrong. 
No doubt, with patriotic thought. 

Each one believed that he was right. 
And for his principles he fought 

-And fell upon yon prairie height. 
They are sleeping there, and side by side; 

Their graves have ever been kept green ; 
lyCt not the cause in which they died 

'Tween them and laurels intervene. 
Perhaps there may be some here now 

Whose loved ones sleep in 'yonder grave; 
If so, they need not blush to own 

Relation to the fallen brave. 



ANNIVERSARY MEETING. 45 1 

And as the circling years go round, 

The mother, brother, son, or wife 
Will call to mind yon battle-ground, 

Where set the loved one's sun of life. 
It set that day to rise no more, 

The life-time close of soldier brave 
As ever sword or musket bore. 

Or ever filled a soldier's grave. 
I fain would ask, fain would I know, 

How many there are here to-day 
Who six and twenty years ago 

Joined in that fearful battle fray; 
Who heard the clash of arms that day 

And saw their many comrades fall, 
As slowly passed the hours away 

Beneath a smoky funeral pall. 
How many are there here to-day 

Who passed that fearful carnage through? 
How many wore Confederate gray? 

And is there one who wore the blue? 
If there is one of either band. 

The Federal or Confederate, 
Fain would I take him by the hand 

And freely him congratulate. 
If such is here, please make it known; 

I would address myself to you. 
I'm not mistaken, here is one 

Who battled here and wore the blue.* 
And here's another, brave as he. 

Who met him on j^on battle-field, 
Contending for the victory. 

Each one refusing long to yield. 
To you who then your bosoms bared 

I would address myself and say: 
Thank heaven, your lives, like mine, are spared 

To witness this auspicious day ! 
A quarter-century and more 

Has passed, and v^^hat a change there's been ! 
'Twas then you met in conflict sore, 

'Tis now a pleasant, joyful scene. 



'Richard Sloane. 



452 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

To you, my friend who wore the blue, 

And fought upon the winning side. 
To principle remaining true 

For which so many thousands died: 
Hold fast the union of the States 

For which you marched, and fought, and bled ; 
But animosities and hates, 

I^et them be buried with the dead. 
Though on the winning side you fought. 

The priceless boon at length attained, 
It was a treasure dearly bought, 

A union almost lost regained. 
Taunt not with scorn the losing side, 

As conquered by victorious arms; 
Nor yet by word or action chide 

The brave men who have grounded arms. 
Let them with you enjoy the fruits 

And blessings which the union gives. 
And join in peaceful, free pursuits 

As long as you and freedom lives. 
Make not distasteful to the men 

The union which was forced on them; 
But let them share its blessings, when 

They'll prize it as a costly gem. 
And you, my friend who wore the gray,* 

And fought so stubbornly and long 
Throughout that fearful, bloody fray. 

Nor ever dreamed that you were wrong — 
Contending with the South for right, 

As Southern rights you understood. 
Till vanquished by o'erpowering might, 

You now admit 'twas for your good; 
And though denied the boon you sought, 

A greater blessing you have found ; • 

The principle 'gainst which you fought 

Will to your happiness redound. 
A loyal citizen you are, 

Of a republic great and grand. 
Whose every blessing you can share, 

And full protection can- demand. 

='J. Brizeudine. 



ANNIVERSARY MEETING. 453 

No North, no South, no blue nor gray, 

iVnd no distinction now should mar 
Our peace and fellowship to-day. 

While standing 'neath the stripe and star. 
'Tis said the South is solid still. 

And that the North is partly so, 
And that the old contention will 

Be felt as years and years ago. 
In their elections let them be 

As solid as the voters please, 
If every voting man is free 

To cast his vote as fit he sees ; 
And let the count be free and fair, 

No fraud or threatened force thereat. 
No matter what the questions are — 

The ballot-box will settle that. 
The ballot now shall settle what 

The bullet settled for us then. 
And party politics should not 

Cause us to go to war again. 
Enough of strife in years ago 

We've had, and you who met as foes 
Upon the field of battle know 

How doubtfully the conflict goes. 
And now that peace and order reigns, 

And war has ceased, with all its wrongs, 
I^et hills and mountains, vales and plains, 

Be vocal with our grateful songs. 
And you, my friends, join hands to-day, 

And swear beneath the stars above : 
Come weal or woe, whatever may, 

The stars and stripes shall have your love. 



T 



454 RURAI, RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

THE SPIDER-WEB PROBLEM. 









A MATHEMATICAI, THEOREM. 


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A theorem that must be true, 
Although it was not known of old ; 

'Tis something Euclid never knew, 
Or something that he never told. 

You will draw a triangle of any degree ; 

Whatever its shape, let the area be s. 

On each of its sides a square you'll assign, 

And their outside corners connect by a 'line, 

Three triangles forming, and each one will be, 

Whatever its shape, ^/le same area as z. 

On the outside line of each triangle draw 

A square just its length by the right-angle law. 

And the sum of their squares, when added, you'll find 

Is three times the sum of the first three combined. 



THK SPIDER-WEB PROBI^EM. 455 

Their outside corners coimect as before, 
And trapezoidal figures 3'ou'll have, I am sure — 
Two parallel sides — and they will compare 
As one is \.o four — 'tis true, I declare; 
And the area of each of these trapezoids will be 
IVi'sX.five times as much as the triangle z. 
On the longer side then of each one you will place 
A square, as before, and in every case 
Add together these areas, and when it is done 
The5^'ll compare with the first three as sixteeyi to one. 
Their outside corners connect once again. 
And three other trapezoids by this you'll obtain; 
And, whatever the parallel sides when 'tis done, 
The long to the short is 2.'$. five is to one. 
And the area of each of these trapezoids will be 
Just twenty-four times the triangle z. 
And if you continue to follow the law, 
And square and trapezoid successively draw, 
You'll find there's a law, unchanging and true. 
Which governs the increasing figures all through : 
The fourth set of squares with the first set compared 
As seventy-five to one is declared; 
The fifth set compared with the third set will be 
As twenty-two and nine-hundredths to one, do you see? 
Likewise the sixth with the fourth, I will dare, 
As twenty-four and four-hundredths to one will compare ; 
And the third trapezoid, I venture, will be 
As large as one hundred and fifteen z; 
And the fourth five times the third one will be, 
Minus the second, or twenty-four z; 
The fifth five times as large as the fourth. 
Minus the third; so forth and so forth. 
The law of progression is simple and plain, 
But search all the books, and you'll seek it in vain; 
'Tis a new theorem, the discovery I claim, 
But perhaps 'twill be known by some other man's name. 

Martin Rice. 



456 RURAL rhyme;s and oIvDEn time;s. 

SEMI-CENTENNIAL POEM. 



Read before the Blue River Baptist Association, at Lee's Summit, at 
fiftieth annual meeting, September, 1887. 

Year after year, for many years, 

Has this association met; 
Formed by the early pioneers, 

It holds it annual sessions yet; 
And now we meet the fiftieth time — 

The fiftieth convocation this — 
To further on a cause sublime. 

Proclaiming Christ and heavenly bliss; 
A union of the churches made 

For Zion's glorious King to war. 
Whose blood a ransom fully paid 

His sinful captive subjects for. 
At Sni-a-bar, in Lafayette, 

In eighteen hundred thirty-four, 
Our pious fathers hopeful met 

This bond of union to secure. 

The time has passed, the years have fled — 

The measured years by sun and star; 
Those Christian fathers all are dead 

Who met that year at Sni-a-bar. 
A half a century and more 

Of years have passed away since then ; 
Those fathers on the other shore. 

Their works of faith with us remain. 
The union which they formed survives, 

Their deeds of faith and love proclaims, 
And not in vain have been their lives ; 

Remembered still will be their riames; 
And while Blue River has a name 

As an association free 
Her records true will speak of them 

In generations yet to be. 



skmi-ce;nte;nnial poem. 457 

I^et Fristoe, Warder, Stayton live, 

lyong live, upon historic pages; 
And Powell, Snelling, Ricketts have 

The gratitude of future ages ; 
While Savage, Finch, and Jackson too 

The kindest mention will deserve; 
White and Avery and Fitzhugh, 

From duty daring not to swerve; 
Adams, Brown, and Harrelson, 

Just as faithful, just as true ; 
Flannery, King, and Robertson, 

Their names are there recorded too. 
They laid a firm foundation then, 

And of materials good and true. 
No doubt those plain, old-fashioned men 

Builded better than they knew. 
Small indeed, and weak at first, 

To human eyes did it appear; 
But, by its careful fathers nursed. 

It grew in strength from year to year. 

With strengthened stake and lengthened cord, 

It grew and covered all the field; 
And from its portals Christ the I^ord 

His gracious truth and love revealed. 
From hundreds it to thousands grew, 

Still spreading wider its domain. 
And from its walls the heralds blew 

The gospel trumpet not in vain. 
From this have kindred unions grown, 

As helping daughters, strong and fair; 
Tebo and Butler both will own 

And bless a mother's watchful care ; 
There's Lafayette and Johnson too, 

Ikying on our border near, 
A daughter or twin sister true, 

To all the family most dear. 



v] 



458 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES- 

Its influence, too, has grown apace; 

We trust that it is doing good. 
In every church, in every place, 

In ever}^ town and nighborhood. 
'Tis putting forth an effort now 

To reach the distant heathen world; 
On Afric's plains and mountain's brow 

The Christian banner is unfurled ; 
A voice from it has crossed the seas 

And in a foreign land and tongue 
Has given the Gospel to Chinese 

Through Holcomb and Miss Kmma Young. 
'Tis speaking, too, in thunder tone. 

Against the bane of human life. 
That curse which is in every zone. 

The fruitful source of blood and strife— 
Intemperance, the worst of foes. 

Which now is sweeping o'er the land, 
And, like the lava's torrent, flows 

A besom of destruction grand. 
As said, this is the fiftieth time 

The churches' messengers have met ; 
Some of them in their manhood's prime. 

While some are 3^oung in years as yet. 
And here are those gray-headed ones, 

Those who, like me and Brother Wood, 
Through winter's snows and summer's suns 

Have many a storm of life withstood; 
Some who can call to mind the way 

In which our union first was made, 
As I can recollect the day 

When its foundation-stones were laid ; 
Some who have with its founders stood 

And labored with them side bj'' side. 
And, like the woman, what they could. 

Have done for Christ, the crucified. 



SKMI-CKNTENNIAI, POEM. 459 

But young, or old, or middle-aged, 

We are in a common purpose joined: 
The work in which we are all engaged 

Is the salvation of mankind. 
That purpose we should keep in view, 

Remembering that the time is short. 
By precept, and example too, 

Entreat, encourage, and exhort. 
I,et younger men to front rank press, 

As worn-out veterans back retire 
And may the I^ord their efforts bless. 

And give His servants their desire. 

We meet not here to legislate, 

Advisory counsel this of ours ; 
The churches did not delegate 

Or give us legislative powers. 
Then let us counsel for the good 

And our advice with truth accord ; 
lyCt nothing said be understood 

As tending to produce discord. 
And may we give no counsel here 

With which ourselves will not comply. 
Be all our counsels in the fear 

Of Him who reigns supreme on high. 
And when this convocation ends, 

And our resolves have all been passed, 
May none of us who here attends 

Repent the vote that he has cast. 
And when in future years we read 

This record that is made to-day, 
O may it not be like the seed 

The sower sowed beside the way ! 
May not the cares of life molest 

Nor the desire of gain destroy 
The harvest fruits that might have blessed, 

And brought us comfort, peace, and joy. 



f\ 



460 RURAL RHYMES AND OI.DEN TIMES. 

And as our fathers heretofore 

Trusted in God, the God of heaven, 
In eighteen hundred and thirty-four, 

So let us trust in eighty-seven. "^^ 
And when another century 

Of years has come and passed away. 
May other generations see 

The fruits of labors done to-day. 



EVENING MUSINGS. 



At the close of my seventy-third year, November 22, 188 

Another day and year are closing — 
• My birth-day this, my seventy-third; 
And in the shades of evening musing, 
I think of all that has occurred. 

Am I dreaming, am I dreaming? 

Is it nothing but a dream? 
Are those scenes before me passing 

Fanciful, though real they seem? 

Am I drifting, am I drifting. 

Drifting down the stream of Time ? 

Are those objects round me floating 
Those I passed in youthful prime ? 

Passing by accustomed places, 
lyooking as they looked of yore ; 

There the kind, familiar faces 
I shall see on earth no more. 



*The reason why the fiftieth meeting of the association was held fifty- 
three years after the first was owing to the fact that during the great war of 
1861 no meetings were held. 



EVENING MUSINGS. 46 1 

Dreaming, dreaming, sure I'm dreaming — 
Three-score years almost have passed 

Since I saw that school-house yonder 
And the scenery round it cast ; 

But there it is, I see it plainly, 

See the boys and girls at play. 
Those I thought long since departed. 

Buried, buried far away; 

See the youthful soldiers marching, 

By my cousin Crawford led. 
Though the captain and his soldiers, 

Almost all of them, are dead ; 

As in double file we are marching, 

For I'm marching with them too. 
See the girls our movements watching 

As we pass them in review : 

Nancy, Betsey, and Belinda, 

Other girls as fair as they — 
Only one of them surviving. 

She a matron old and gray ; 

Yet I seem to see them plainly, 

All those young and laughing girls, 

Dressed in homespun dresses tidy. 
With their light and auburn curls. 

These and all the scenes surrounding 

So vividly and plain I view, 
Though fifty years and more have passed me 

Since I bade those scenes adieu. 

I see, across the streamlet yonder, 

A cabin near a field of corn ; 
'Twas there, its humble board roof under, 

As they told me, I was born ; 



462 RURAIv RHYMES AND OI.DEN TIMES. 

'Tis there my fondest recollections 
So often turn and. love to roam — 

Ah ! do I see my loved connections 

Once more in that, my childhood's home ? 

The scene has changed and daylight ended, 
But by the pitch-pine light I see 

The family group again assembled — 
The branches of our family tree : 

My father by the fireside resting, 

After the day's labor done. 
And busily my mother reeling 

The yarn from broaches lately spun; 

While, merrily engaged in spinning, 
My cousin Polly cards and spins 

The cotton which we boys are ginning 
On our wooden roller gins. 

All are there within that cabin, 
A cabin I supposed was gone. 

If Fancy has the picture given. 

How well the picture she has drawn! 

Changing, changing, often changing, 
The scenery is which I survey: 

My boyhood days are vanishing, 
And we are moving far away ; 

Have bade adieu to that small cabin. 
By fortune hoping to be blessed, 

And, with a four-horse team and wagon. 
Are moving to the distant West; 

And, as we think, have sadly taken 
The last fond look on that old home, 

The chain that bound us to it broken, 
That all unfettered we may roam ; 



EVENING MUSINGS. 463 

The scenery changing, daily changing, 
Week after week for many a week; 

Anticipation fondly whispering ; 

"Still nearer to the home you seek." 

Another change — how swiftly hurried 
From scene to scene I seem to pass ! 

How soon from place to place I'm carried. 
And how familiar every place ! 

I see, as evening closes dreary, — 

Or does my fancy wildly rove ? — 
There, bordering on the wide prairie, 

A cabin near a pin-oak grove ; 

A cabin rude, an humble quarter, 

A clapboard roof and puncheon floor, 

A chimney made of sticks and mortar, 
A clapboard shutter to the door. 

My father, mother, brothers, sisters, 

I see them all at home again ; 
And round the fire-place wide they cluster, 

They v/ho in narrow graves have lain. 

David, Spencer, James, and Isaac, 

Younger all of them than me ; 
Newton, Pryor lyca, and Nancy, 

lyong since dead, I seem to see. 

Strange it is that I'm thus carried 
Through scenes of long ago so plain ; 

Things that time had long since buried, 
Thus rising into life again. 

Another little school-house yonder 

In that wildwood I seem to see. 
Where children, my instruction under, 

Are conning lessons ABC. 



464 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

Merrily I see them sporting, 

Boys whose heads long since were gray, 

Girls whose children now are sleeping 
In the cold and silent clay. 

The school-house changes to a dwelling, 

A cabin near an Indian trail ; 
A smiling face my gloom dispelling, 

As sunshine does the driving hail. 

'Tis Mary's face, that face long hidden, 
'Tis she who smiles upon me there; 

For one and thirty years forbidden 
By death my joys and griefs to share. 

Another change: a larger dwelling 
Appears to take the cabin's place; 

My children in and out are filing, 
I see each well-remembered face. 

I see them as the}- all are clustered 
About their mother in that home; 

Though something tells me they are scattered. 
Apart in different lands to roam. 

While some, alas ! repose together, 
Beside that mother long since dead; 

They wait the husband and the father. 
Who soon must follow where they've led. 

Dreaming, dreaming, am I dreaming. 

On this late November's eve; 
My memory, or my fancy, weaving 

A web which only they can weave; 

So plainly to my vision bringing 
Scenes which long ago have fled, 

As in my ears are voices ringing. 
Children's voices, long since dead? 



CUTTING DOWN THK OLD ORCHARD. 465 

Surely they are near me playing, 

A childish hand is on my brow ; 
She wakes me from my musing saying: 

"Grandpa, ain't you sleeping now?" 

Yes, dear child, life's race contesting 
Has made me weary with its care ; 

Soon I'll sleep and soon be resting 
As my lost and loved ones are. 

Wearied by my life-long toiling. 

By labors done and labors lost, 
Accidents my efforts foiling, 

Hopes and expectations crossed, 

Soon, my long day's labor ended, 

I shall lay me down to sleep. 
May He on whom I've long depended 

From harm my little grandchild keep. 



CUTTING DOWN THE OLD ORCHARD. 



Employed as I have been of late, 

In cutting down old apple-trees 
Which backward fifty years can date, 

And now are dying by degrees. 
How can I fail to call to mind 

The incidents of many a year. 
And him, long since to earth consigned, 

Who planted this old orchard here? 
How natural 'tis that I should think 

Of things long buried, such as these — 
The chain of events, link by link. 

That binds me to those orchard trees ! 



—30— 



w 



466 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDKN TIMES. 

Each has a history it could speak, 

If language to the tree wei e given ; 
Through summer's warm and winter's bleak 

They here have stood since thirty-seven ; 
'Twas then that they were planted here, 

And by my father's hand were set ; 
They've bloomed and bore for many a year. 

And some of them are bearing yet. 
No orchard in the neighborhood 

Can boast an age as great as this. 
And though the fruit be not so good, 

'Twas rarely ever known to miss. 
It never felt the grafting-knife, 

To change the fruitman's taste to please ; 
Each one has lived a natural life. 

And they arc known as seedling trees. 

And here occurs another thought, 

Another link in memory's chain: 
Whence came those seeds when hither brought. 

The seed that did the tree contain? 
Their history further back we trace, 

And still that history linked with mine ; 
I brought them from my native place, 

Their native place as well as mine ; 
I took them from the apple's juice. 

At cider press in Tennessee ; 
Not knojwing all they might produce, 

I brought them here in thirty-three. 
And vividly I call to mind 

The day in eighteen thirty-four, 
I to the earth those seeds consigned, 

To see them in that shape no more. 

Since then full many a change there's been 
In these and all surrounding things ; 

The changes undergone and seen 

These trees to my remembrance bring. 



CUTTING DOWN THE OIvD ORCHARD. 467 

The youth of nineteen years of age 

An old man now of seventy-three, 
Who soon must drop from off life's stage, 

As apples ripe drop from the tree. 
These trees, with branches bare and brown. 

Have bloomed and borne year after year; 
A«d this old man is cutting down 

The trees his father planted here. 
Were they endowed with thought and speech 

As we reflecting mortals are, 
Some useful lessons they might teach, 

If we would lend a listening ear. 

The dying giant apple-tree. 

That falls by my unsparing blows, 
This truth might speak, reminding me 

The life of man must also close. 
Another truth the dying tree 

Might speak as I am felling it, 
And say: "In youth you cared for me; 

That care I've not forgotten yet. 
But have I not that care repaid? 

My fruits I've given them all to you; 
Beneath my boughs your children played, 

Your children and grandchildren too ; 
That little pocketful of seed 

So largely grew and multiplied, 
A thousand thousand fold indeed, 

A hundred thousand wants supplied. 

" But now our days of usefulness 

Have passed, and, strength and beauty gone, 
We are cumbering the ground, alas ! 

From which our life and strength were drawn. 
When spring returns to earth again. 

And trees have budded and have bloomed, 
Of us but little will remain — - 

For winter's fuel all consumed. 



468 RURAI. RHYMES AND OI,DEN TIMES. 

Consumed, but not annihilate — 

Annihilation there is none; 
What God and nature did create 

Is lasting as the central sun. 
Our ashes only may remain, 

The gaseous particles be fled, 
But, mingling with the summer rain, 

Raise other plants in our stead." 

How strange indeed are Nature's laws, 

As seen by all and known by few ! 
Eternal as the first great cause, 

Yet ever changing, ever new. 
Though every atom disappears 

Ivike water in the desert sands, 
'Twill live again in other years, 

In other forms, in other lands. 
Man too must die as trees have died. 

The body waste and disappear; 
But there's another life beside 

The life that we are living here. 
But what that life ma}^ be, and where, 

Is not for me or you to say; 
But this we know : we are tending there ; 

The present life prepares the way. 



THE POPLAR STAFF. 



Inscription written on my cane, 
Which will itself fullY explain. 

Although this simple staff may be 

Of small intrinsic worth. 
To me it has a value 'bove 

Much greater things of earth. 
To other men perhaps 'twould be 

Worth little or worth naught, 
But sure it has a charm for me 

That costlier canes have not. 



THE POPLAK STAFF. 469 

And why? Because from my old home, 

The place that gave me birth, 
A generous present it has come, 

From friends of sterling worth ; 
Because upon my father's farm 

The tree from which 'twas made 
Once grew and flourished; when a child 

Beneath it oft I strayed. 

And now this cane recalls the time, 

Full sixty years ago, 
When these now feeble hands of mine 

I^aid that tall poplar low; 
When, at the age of sixteen 3'ears, 

I helped to score and hew 
A plate that would support the roof 

Of dwelling-house in view. 
I helped to place the roof thereon, 

And when the house was built, 
I, with my father's family, 

Beneath its shelter dwelt. 
But six and fifty years ago 

That farm and house were sold, 
And other parties occupied 

Till house and men waxed old. 
The generations came and went. 

As race succeeds to race. 
The old house then was taken down, 

Another took its place; 
But that large poplar plate was found 

Scarcely a whit decayed, 
And from the plate that I had scored 

This staff of mine was made. 
That is the reason why this staff 

Has such a charm for me ; 
It speaks to me of that old home 

In Eastern Tennessee. 



7T3 



470 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEJN TIMES. 

And now that five and seventy years 

Have cast o'er me their spell, 
Some other staff for my support 

Might serve me just as well. 
But then a silver-headed cane, 

Or one of burnished gold, 
From strangers' hands, would never speak, 

lyike this, of days of old ; 
It would not speak, as this one does, 

Of that, my childhood's home. 
Reminding me of days before 

My feet had learned to roam ; 
Nor would it speak of those dear friends 

Who occupy to-night 
The farm and very spot where first 

My eyes beheld the light, 
Those friends who sent to me this cane 

Which I so highly prize, 
For which I will most grateful be 

Till death shall close my eyes. 
And soon that time may come to me. 

But should it tarry still, 
When e'er I see this staff I'll think 

•Of Worth and Sarah Hill. 
And to that relative who brought 

And bore it carefully to me 
I will be grateful too, and pray 

That he may prospered be. 
The carpenter who carved the staff 

May think no more of me. 
But sure the name he wrote thereon 

Will long remembered be. 
And may this staff, when I am gone 

And need support no more, 
Speak to surviving ones of me 

And of the days of yore. 



THE CKUAR WALKING-CANE. 471 

THE CEDAR WALKING-CANE. 



Beside a stream in Tennessee 
There stood an ancient cedar-tree, 
And in- that tree the bees had made 
A home, and plied their busy trade. 
Mischievous boys were there about, 
And saw them passing in and out ; 
They cut the tree to get the hoard 
The honey-bees within had stored. 
Full sixty years have passed away; 
Part of its trunk is there to-day, 
But little, if at all, decayed. 
And from that log this staff was made. 
'Twas carved by friend in Tennessee, 
And as a present sent to me; 
One of the few remaining boys 
Who now survives and life enjoys. 
The other ones have long ago 
Been called by death from scenes below; 
Been summoned to their lasting rest. 
We trust, in mansions of the blest. 
And now, as on this staff I lean, 
My thoughts are carried to the scene 
Of youthful friends in youthful day. 
Eight hundred miles and more away. 
That cousin dear who sent the staff, 
My prayers shall be in his behalf; 
Pew be his sorrows, few his cares, 
When he, like me, is full of years. 
And may I hope, when I am gone, 
The staff that I am leaning on 
Will speak to some surviving one 
Of me, when all my work is done? 



p 



472 RURAL RHYMES AND OI^DRN TIMES. 

READING HIS OWN POEMS. 



Written upon the fly-leaf of the first edition of " Rural Rhymes and 
Poems from the Farm." 

In looking o'er my rhymings 

That were written long ago, 
lyike funeral bells, their chimings 

Come to me faint and low. 

They tell me that I know not 
How long these chimes may fall; 

They tell me, too, that no thought 
Of mine can them recall. 

lyike friends from me departed, 

I cannot call them back; 
They've gone from whence they started. 

On a never-ending track 

Their truth or falsehood, living 

When I am dead and gone. 
An influence will be giving 

As years are rolling on. 

They say responsibility 

Attaches to my name 
For all the good or bad which may 

Be caused on earth by them. 

For thoughts expressed in measure, 
The rhymes that I have penned 

In by-gone hours of leisure, 
Must I answer in the end? 

If so, how very careful 

In my rhyming should I be, 
lycst consequences fearful 

Should be ascribed to me. 



RKADING HIS OWN POEMS. 473 

If my writings shall be tending 

To promote the cause of truth, 
And their chimes be never-ending, 

T shall then be nothing loth. 

But, in spite of my intention, 

Should they e'er encourage wrong, 

IvCt them never more have mention, 
And be never read or sung. 

'Twere better they should perish 

And be forgotten quite. 
Than viciousness to nourish 

Or virtues cause to blight. 

I cannot now recall them — 

I would not if I could; 
Whatever may befall them, 

I intended them for good; 

Although there are expressions 

I would change if I knew how. 
For fear of wrong impressions, 

'Tis too late to change them now. 

Then farewell to my verses; 

When I am dead and gone, 
As messengers of mercies 

May they be moving on. 



474 SURAIv RHYMES AND OI.DEN TIMES. 

REGRETS AND CONGRATULATIONS. 



Written to the Platte City poet, W. M. Paxton.on the receipt of an invi- 
tation to attend his golden wedding, October 2, 1889. 

Your kind invitation, a short time since, 

In my bosom most gratefully rests; 
But obstacles stand in my way which prevent 

My meeting with you and your guests. 

My congratulations I trust you'll accept, 

Though so little expected from me, 
And may you still be by kind Providence kept. 

Whatever life's changes may be. 

How pleasant 'twould be could I meet with you there. 

On the auspicious day that shall close 
The fiftieth year since, in life's morning fair, 

Bach other for partners you chose ! 

My congratulations I give, and well may, 

For, alas ! by experience we learn 
Few partners pass over that calendar day. 

Or witness its fiftieth return. 

But year after year, for fifty long years, 

Has peace and prosperity smiled ; 
And though you've had hours of sorrow and tears 

Your love has those hours beguiled. 

With children and grandchildren blessed, you look back 
O'er the path which together you've trod, 

With a hope that those children may walk in your track 
And be true to their country and God. 



RSGRETS AND CONGRATUIvATIONS. 475 

I envy you not, though fortune and fate 

Has been kinder to you than to me ; 
Though wedded I was at an earlier date, 

I've been widowed for years thirty-three. 

Of many things trivial and many things great, 
You have witnessed the rise and the fall ; 

The march of improvement all over the State, 
And your city, the greatest of all. 

The anniversary day on its fiftieth return, 

As others before it have done. 
Still finds you possessed with the love and concern 

That you had when united as one. 

Though most of the friends who met with you then 

And wished you success and much joy 
Have since passed away, you have others, I ken. 

More numerous, whose love you enjoy. 

You may call to your minds the guests young and gay. 

On that Thursday so long, long ago ; 
Is there one of them here on your gold wedding-day, 

A blessing or gift upon you to bestow ? 

It may be there's none, they all may have gone. 

But hundreds have taken their place. 
To wish Paxton and Forman, united in one. 

Success in the end of life's race. 

Again I will say, accept as sincere 

The congratulations I send, 
With my hope and my prayer that some future year 

A diamond wedding will bring to my friend. 



476 RURAL rhyme;s and oIvDEn times. 

SWEET, SWEET HOME. 



'Twas a long time ago that I first heard it sung, 
That song of sweet home, by a now silent tongue, 
But out of the distance the notes seem to come : 
"Be it ever so humble there's no place like home. 

Home, home, sweet, sweet home ! 
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home." 

A youth of nineteen and by fortune unblessed, 
I had come to Missouri, the then farthest "West," 
And as I there sat in a land-office room. 
The clerk sang, as I waited to buy me a home : 

"Home, home, sweet, sweet home ! 
Tho' small and tho' humble, there's nothing like home.' 

That home that I purchased so long, long ago 
Is no longer mine, and I never shall know 
How much by the selling I lost or have gained, 
But a home for somebody it still has remained; 

Home, home, a small quiet home ; 
Though small and quite humble, it still is a home. 

Fifty-odd years have come and have passed; 

A home it has been, and a home it will last 

When I, who first purchased that small spot of ground, 

A home of a far different kind will have found ; 

Home, home, a far sweeter home ; 
Though ever so distant, a much fairer home. 

I frequently pass by that hearth-stone of old. 
That home that I purchased, the home that I sold, 
And long-buried scenes of the past will return. 
And the home as it was I still seem to discern. 

Home, home, sweet old home ! 
The' small and much changed, 'tis the same ancient home. 



A BIVOUAC OP THE DEAD. 477 

Sometimes when I list to that old song of Payne's, 
That song of sweet home, with its musical strains, 
I think of that day in the year thirty-four 
And the clerk, Finis Ewing, who sings it no more : 

"Home, home, sweet, sweet home ! 
Tho' small and tho' humble, there's no place like home." 

I have had larger homes, and a home I have yet, 

But that little home I can never forget, 

The day that I bought, the song that I heard. 

By which many a sorrowful heart has been stirred. 

Home, home, dear ancient home ! 
Though sold and abandoned, it still is a home. 

That farm and that song seem linked by a tie — 

While thinking of one for the other I sigh ; 

The home calls to mind the musical strain. 

And the song points me back to the homestead again. 

Home, home, sweet, sweet home ! 
Though sold and forsaken, it once was my home. 



A BIVOUAC OF THE DEAD. 



Written for and read at the twenty-ninth anniversary of the battle of 
Lone Jack. 

No muffled drum proclaims to-day 

The gallant soldiers' fall. 
But on this anniversary 

We should their deeds recall. 
Go to yon elevated ground. 

Brave men are sleeping there. 
As brave as ever have been crowned 

With laurels bright and fair. 



■n 



478 RURAI, RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

There sleeping in their lowly bed, 

They heed not war's alarms ; 
No midnight dream or fearful dread 

Of call to clashing arms, 
No threat of an advancing foe. 

No rumor of defeat, 
No storms that come, no winds that blow. 

Can haste or stay their feet. 

lyong was the struggle, fierce the strife, 

Courageous men on either side. 
How great the sacrifice of life ! 

How many brave men died ! 
No fiercer conflict in the strife 

That then convulsed the land 
Than that in which they laid down life 

At duty's stern command. 

Fierce was the battle-storm that swept 

Across that prairie swell. 
And long the struggling ranks were kept 

Kxposed to shot and shell; 
And as the roaring of the storm 

Was borne upon the wind, 
As often as the ranks would form, 

As often were they thinned. 

And when the storm had spent its rage, 

Its fury passed away, 
There mixed together, youth and age 

In Death's own image lay ; 
While others, wounded unto death, 

lyay waiting for the hour 
When they should yield their latest breath 

To war's destroying power. 

The father and the husband, who 

Left wife and child behind 
To watch and wait and hope as few 

Can do and live resigned, 



A BIVOUAC OF THE DKAD. 479 

Sleep there beside the stripling youth, 

Some mother's darling boy, — 
Her pride, her stay, her all, forsooth, — 

The widow's hope and joy. 

lyong have they lain upon that field, 

The mourner's sobs are hushed. 
And passing time has partly healed 

The hearts that then were crushed. 
The pitying rain, like woman's tears. 

Has fallen "on their graves, 
And oft the passing breeze appears 

To sigh o'er fallen braves. 

There sleeping in their lowly bed, 

They heed not war's alarms ; 
No midnight dream, no fearful dread 

Of call to clashing arms, 
The thunder of the cannonade. 

The muskets' awful roar. 
Will not disturb them where they're laid— 

They'll hear them never more. 

The stains of blood upon the brow 

Have all been wiped away ; 
They feel no pain nor anguish now. 

Nor memory of the fray ; 
No longer on life's march will they 

Be hurried to and fro — 
Their watch by night, their march by day 

Have ended long ago. 

And on their latest camping-ground 

They've pitched their sleeping-tents. 
And roll of drum nor bugle sound 

Will ever call them hence. 
Upon that gory battle-field. 

By patriotism led, 
They've laid them down as on their shield — 

A bivouac of the dead. 



J^ 



480 RURAI, RHYMES AND OlyDEN TIMES. 

And fame and honor guard the spot 

On which those worthies rest ; 
And never shall Detraction's foot 

Or impious hand molest. 
The rusty sword and bayonet, 

The murdering lance and gun, 
They'll need no more until shall set 

The world's last setting sun. 

Together now those warriors sleep 

Who fought each other then ; 
Their enmity all buried deep, 

To rise no more again. 
And whether clad in blue or gray. 

Or whether right or wrong, 
Respect and honor we will pay, 

For these to them belong. 

Sons of Columbia, brothers all. 

Ye sleep in the same clay ; 
There rest 'till the same bugle-call 

Together you obey. 
No sounds shall e'er disturb again 

Your silent bivouac. 
While sleeping 'neath the sun and rain. 

Where grew the tree I/one Jack. 

There martial glory guards the spot. 

And marble stone will tell 
How stubbornly that day you fought, 

How gloriously you fell. 
lyCt truth your eulogy proclaim 

And spread it far abroad, 
And history, with pen aflame. 

Your heroic deeds applaud. 



REFLECTIONS. 48 1 

REFLECTIONS. 



At the Ag-e of Seventy-seven. 

In the midst of our leflections, 
Come many recollections 

Of the long, long ago ; 
To think of friends departed, 
The kind and generous hearted. 

That we no more shall know. 

We think of them, and never 
Can time or distance sever, 

Or keep away the thought; 
When little we expect it, 
With nothing to direct it, 

It comes to us unsought. 

'Twill cause the mind to wander 
From present things and ponder 

The things of long ago; 
When youth and beauty charmed us. 
Ere age and sickness harmed us. 

And sunk the spirits low. 

No longer are we basking 

In pleasure's fields and asking 

What pleasant path to tread; 
But now the question often 
Is, what will soothe or soften 

The pain of heart or head ? 

Or, where the friends departed, 
Who with us gaily started 

To reach the mountain's brow ? 
Their memory with us lingers, 
But on the fewest fingers 

We count survivors now ; 



482 RURAI, RHYMEIS AND OLDEN TIMES. 

Those few who, antedating 
Life's pleasures, all are waiting 

The boatman that shall come 
To bear us o'er the fiver; 
And e'en the longest liver 

Will soon be carried home. 

We've witnessed many changes, 
And many a one that strange is 

To us, the silver-haired; 
But a greater change is nearing — 
The boatman's horn in hearing 

Tells us to be prepared ; 

Prepared to join the others. 
Our fathers and our mothers, 

Upon the other side; 
L^amented ones who left us 
When cruel Death bereft us 

And would not be denied. 

Thus oftentimes reflecting 
And calmly retrospecting 

lyife's game that we have played, 
We see, the shadows under, 
The cause of many a blunder 

And foolish move we made. 

But in the evening twilight. 
As dimmer grows the eyesight, 

Our errors come to view; 
Too late it is to mend them, 
'Tis useless to defend them, 

For that we cannot do. 

But let us trust, believing, 
As we the shores are leaving. 
That nothing said or done 



NEW year's night thoughts. 483 

Will be to those surviving 
A cause for sinful striving, 
Or stumbling-stone for one. 

And when our course we've wended 
And life's long race is ended 

By Death's approaching night, 
May something left behind us 
Be proof that truth inclined us 

To walk and live aright. 



NEW YEAR'S NIGHT THOUGHTS. 



1892. 



I am thinking to-night of the long, long ago, 

When first to this region I came, 
When hope and expectancy cheered me, although ■ 

A stranger to fortune and fame. 

I am thinking to-night, and my thoughts are of things 

That few of the living remember ; 
And the friends who to mind reflection thus brings. 

How small, very small, is the number! 

I think of the land as I saw it of yore. 

And I think of its citizens then ; 
The old pioneers that are seen here no more 

To my memory come back again; 

The men as they were and the land as it was 

Ere art and improvement had come 
The fair face of nature to change, as it does, 

With its rattle, its clatter and hum ; 



484 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

The wild scenes of nature the pioneer saw 
Where so lately the red man did roam, 

The rough, rugged lands near the mouth of the Kaw 
That thousands on thousands call "home." 

The hardy backwoodsman, the bold pioneer, 
Who followed both chase and the plow. 

Are seen here no more, and the question I hear 
Is, "Where are those pioneers now?" 

One here and one there in a search we may find, 
With a step that is tottering and slow. 

Enfeebled in body and weakened in mind, 
And waiting, as I am, to go. 

I think of a land to the eastward that lies. 
With its mountains and clear running streams. 

That land in which I first opened my eyes 
To the light of the autumn sunbeams. 

I think of that home in the " Corn-cracker " State, 
And the thought I am loth to dismiss. 

And often I wonder if changes as great. 
Have occurred in that land as in this. 

That humble log cabin that stood near the road 

That meandered the valley along; 
The sugar-camp, too, where sugar-trees growed 

The pawpaws and buckeyes among — 

I think of them now, though all may have gone. 

Giving place to scenery more grand. 
And from present things here my mind is oft drawn 

To scenes in my dear native land. 

I think of the school-house that stood on the hill, 
And the lessons I there strove to learn; 

Though the house is no more, the lessons are still 
To the world of no little concern. 



NEW year's night thoughts. 485 

Some of those lessons I've never forgot, 
Though neglecting their practice too much, 

While others I would from my memory blot 
And never more practice or touch. 

I think of my teachers, all, all of them gone, 

Not one of the number is left; 
I think of some school-mates in life's early dawn 

Of whom I have long been bereft; 

And when I would number the few who survive. 

On a very few fingers they're named. 
How small is the number now known as alive ! 

How large is the number Death claimed! 

I'm thinking of those who with me set out 

The mountain of toil to ascend — 
Nearly all of them gone ; and in shadows of doubt 

The slope of that mount I descend. 

The log meeting-house that was built in the wood, 

I also am thinking of that ; 
I think of the man in the pulpit who stood, 

A ministering servant thereat. 

I think of that house and the scenes as they were, 
The grave-yard with tombstone and mound ; 

My kindred of six generations are there 
At rest in that burial-ground. 

Will I see them and know them when life's race is run 

And my body, like theirs, in duress? 
Is there an existence where death is unknown ? 

I know not, but hope answers, "Yes." 

I think of the promise that faith holds to view : 
That the tombstone does not mark the end, 

But beyond and above there's a home ever new. 
With no evil thing to contend. 



^ 



486 RURAI, RHYMKS AND OIvDElN TIMES. 

TO MY GRANDSON. 



Martin D. Rice, at Pueblo, Colorado. 

Dear Martin, awhile to your grandsire give ear, 

And listen to what I shall say; 
Not long at the longest can I remain here — 

lyct me speak to you, then, while I may. 

Your are now in the morning of life, and the morn 

Has never shone brightly on you ; 
lyowly and humbly in poverty born, 

And the comforts of life have been few. 

But be not discouraged, the past is now past 

And the future before you appears. 
And though the dark future I cannot forecast, 

I have hopes — and I also have fears. 

Very much of the future — your future, I mean — 

Depends on yourself now alone. 
For much, very much of the harvest of grain 

Depends on the seed that is sown. 

The seed-time of life is the spring-time of youth, 
In which the good seed should be sown — 

The clear seed of virtue, and knowledge, and truth — 
And carefully watched until grown. 

Away from your father and mother I learn, 

Away from your kindred and friends ; 
How much, ah ! how much, you somp day will learn. 

On your good resolutions depends ! 

Resolve to shun every appearance of wrong, 

And be firm in what you resolve ; 
Your good resolutions becoming more strong 

As the months and the seasons revolve. 



TO MY GRANDSON. 487 

Temptations, no doubt, will often assail, 

And a buffeting world may annoy; 
Put your trust in a power that never will fail, 

And go forward in useful employ. 

You are striving to learn the preservative art — 

Preserver of all other arts ; 
Let the precepts of honesty dwell in the heart 

As a maxim that wisdom imparts. 

Persevere in your efforts from day unto day, 

Ivet no vain amusements impede ; 
Still onward and upward, and some day you may 

In the race you are running succeed. 

You know or have heard, in a long past decade. 

When I was a youngster like you, 
A fancy I had to learn that good trade, 

But my youthful desires fell through. 

For better or worse, I can not now say, 

A different path I pursued; 
And now at the end I look back and survey 

Its meanderings, so dark and light hued. ^ 

And now let me hope that, whether in that 

Or some other useful employ. 
Your life may be passed, each task will be met. 

With few anxious cares to annoy. 

And should yoii be spared, like me, to old age. 

To your seven and seventieth year, 
May you then look back upon memory's page 

And see no blot to call forth a tear. 



RURAIv RHYMES AND OIvDlJN TIMES. 

PICTURES OF MEMORY. 



Ho, man of seven and seventy years, 
With hair so white and thin ! 

You scan those pages, what appears 
Your book of memory in ? 

Look on those pages, read aloud 

The things recorded there; 
Things that the mists of time enshroud, 

Describe as once the}^ were. 

To us, the men of yesterday. 
Who of improvements boast, 

Tell of the things now passed away, 
Some useful art that's lost; 

Some lesson of the olden time. 

Or theme of ancient lore; 
Some tenet, trivial or sublime 

Held by the men of yore. 

Yes, I can read, young man, to you, 
If you will lend an ear. 

Some things that memory brings to view- 
Some things recorded here. 

I turn the pages o'er and o'er, 

As I in childhood did ; 
And look upon the pictures more 

Than words with meaning hid. 

I am looking at a picture now — 
Come here and with me gaze. 

And tell me if you ever saw 
The like in all your days. 



PICTURES OF MEMORY. 489 

It is my mother's spinning-wheel, 

My mother spinning there ; 
You see it, but you cannot feel 

Or my emotions share. 

Another picture comes and fades, 

The ancient weaver's loom. 
The quilling-wheel and winding-blades 

That stood in that small room. 

And here upon this other page 

A picture, what is that? 
Those boys — they look as if in rage ; 

They are striking something at. 

That is myself and brother Gail ; 

We are threshing out the wheat, 
Which with the flying hickory flail 

From off the straw we beat. 

And yonder see two stouter men, 

With quilt or blanket sheet ; 
They are fanning from the golden grain 

The useless chaff and cheat. 

Now on this page a picture too, 

Come look a while at it; 
Those men it seems are wading through 

A lake of ripening wheat. 

Why do they stoop and forward bend 

And seem to walk so queer. 
With something crooked in the hand — 

What are they doing there? 



490 RURAI, RHYMES AND OlyDEN TIMKS. 

They are reaping, but they do not look 
lyike reapers now, you know; 

They are harvesting with reaping-hooks, 
As thousand years ago. 

Those boys and girls in working tog 
Are binding up the sheaves. 

And yonder is the whisky -jug, 
Half hidden by the leaves. 

A reaping day of olden time 

Was different from now; 
It differed, but in homely rhyme 

I scarce can tell you how. 

The reaper and the binder then 

Was animated life; 
The reaper oftentimes the man — 

The binder was his wife. 

No man then thought of making one 

In a machinery shop, 
To save, with little help or none, 

A hundred-acre crop. 

There's many another picture here 

In memory's volume true 
That speaks to the old pioneer, 

But not so plain to you. 

Yes, here is one to which we turn 
That speaks of by-gone days ; 

Please study that if you would learn 
Of our old-fashioned ways. 



PICTURES OF MEMORY. 491 

That little structure built of logs, 

For what can it be fit? 
A sleepiug-place for sheep or hogs 

Might well compare with it. 

But 'twas the seat of knowledge then, 

'Twas education's hall, 
Where some who since were congressmen 

Received their schooling all. ' 

'Twas to that house with floor of dirt 

I went when scarcely four, 
Clothed with a lengthy linen shirt — 

The only dress I wore. 

'Twas there I learned my A B C's 

And spelling lessons took. 
And slowly mastered by degrees 

The Webster spelling-book. 

Few other books in school had we ; 

We read the Testament, 
But never physiology 

Or civil government. 

Reading, riting, rithmetic, 

Three R's, were taught us there — 

Enough for qualifying Dick 
For business anywhere. 

The pictured memories of those years 

Will rarely ever fade ; 
The brightness of the morn appears 

To light the evening shade. 



492 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

FAREWELL TO THE OLD MEETING-HOUSE. 



The following lines were written, and some of them read, on the occasion 
of the last service of the lyone Jack Baptist Church in its old house of wor- 
ship, built in 1848 and abandoned for its present house in 1886. 

To this house of worship we'll soon bid adieu, — 
Our service to-day is the last, — 

And our thoughts will go back the scenes to review 
In the days and the years that are past, 
The thirty-odd years that have passed. 

Thirty-three years have come and have gone, — 

A generation in length, it is said, — 
And we, the survivors, are hurrying on 

To be numbered with those that are dead — 

The many, the many now dead. 

Thirty-three years have now passed away 
Since worshipers here were first drawn, 

The true and the faithful — but where now are they? 
They are gone; the most of them gone. 
Ah, yes ! nearly all of them gone. 

You remember their names — I remember them yet ; 

Our pastor so faithful and true — 
Ah, yes! Henry Farmer I'll never forget; 

Nor will you, my dear brother; will you? 

My brother, my sister, will you? 

First pastor was he when the church numbered few — 

Fourteen or fifteen at most — 
And year after year, for twenty years through, 

lyike a soldier he stood at his post; 

L^ike a soldier he died at his post. 



FAREWKLL TO THE OLD MEETING-HOUSE. 493 

For month after month, through heat and through cold, 

He fed the dear flock of his Ivord ; 
And three hundred souls brought into the fold 

Was that faithful shepherd's reward, 

And trul3^ a noble reward. 

Our fathers and mothers, who met with us here. 

Our brothers and sisters of yore. 
We have not forgotten — to us they are dear — 

But they'll meet with us here nevermore — 

On earth we will meet nevermore. 

How many dear brothers and sisters to-day 
Can look back and say from the heart : 

" "Twas here that my burden of guilt rolled away 
And sorrows and fears did depart — 
Our Savior then bade them depart " ? 

How often we think of the days long ago 
When the time of refreshing would come. 

Of converts professing the Savior to know 
And coming like prodigals home — 
Coming back to a dear father's home ! 

And oft will fond memory call up the thought 
Of dear ones and loved ones who came 

And bowed at the foot of the cross, and there sought 
And found peace in a dear Savior's name — 
In Jesus the crucified's name. 

Some of those dear ones and loved ones are here. 

And some are in lands far away ; 
Some, sleeping in death, will never appear 

To us in their mortal array — 

Nevermore in their mortal array. 



494 RURAI. RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

They have left this temple of worship below 

To worship in one up above; 
We leave it to-day, but, wherever we go, 

Let us worship the same God in love — 

The God of compassion and love. 

Though leaving this house of devotion, I trust 

We will carry devotion along, 
Increasing it still till we come to the dust, 

As we will, and that, too, before long. 

Ah, yes ! it will be before long. 

And now, my dear brothers and sisters in love, 
We may never meet here any more. 

But oh! let us meet in the church up above 
With those who have gone on before — 
Those loved ones who have gone on before. 

Dear brethren and friends, before we shall go, 

Before from this house we depart. 
Sing one of the songs of the long time ago 

That so often has thrilled this poor heart, 

And let it now thrill every heart. 

lyet all join in singing, the old and the young, 
That the music may roll as a flood. 

The song that our fathers and mothers have sung: 
A fountain, a fountain of blood — 
There's a fountain that's filled with His blood. 



SEMI-CENTENNIAI. ADDRESS. 495 

SEMI-CENTENNIAL ADDRESS. 



Read at the semi-centennial meeting of the I^one Jack Baptist Church, 
July 31, 1892. 

The close of the fiftieth year is at hand 

Since a few of the old pioneers 
Planted this church in a then border land, 

To nourish with prayers and with tears. 

Those years have all passed and the church yet survives, 

But where are those pioneers now 
Who gave to its growth the eve of their lives 

And labored the cause to endow ? 

Their seats in the church have been vacant long, long, 
But its records still speak of their worth; 

Onty one of the number now known to belong 
To the Church of Christ upon earth. 

That one has been spared by the Ruler above; 

We hoped he would meet with us here 
To worship to-day in the old church of his love 

In its semi-centennial year. 

The only survivor of the pious fourteen 

Who trustingly planted this vine. 
At the end of the years its fruit he has seen 

And drunk of his lyord's gracious wine. 

Our brother Morris Edwards survives now alone ; 

The Cunninghams, Kasleys, and James, 
Lynch, Fox, Alexander, and Hopper, all gone, 

But kindly remembered their names. 

In answer to prayer and their faith in the Just, 

Their number was shortly increased. 
And others like them, with a hope and a trust, 

Come willingly up to the feast. 



496 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

The humble beginning was blessed with success ; 

On their labors the L^ord deigned to smile, 
And month after month continued to bless, 

Notwithstanding the wicked one's wile. 

Many and great are the changes we've seen, 
And the church has its trials endured, 

But the seed that was sown by the trusting fourteen 
To a harvest has partly matured. 

And as we look back o'er the long- vanished years, 

Those years that can never return, 
We think of those pious and plain pioneers 

With a feeling of grateful concern. 

Plain, simple Christians those pioneers were. 

Caring little for fashion or style. 
Contented humility's mantle to wear — 

But never that garb to defile. 

Their pastor, the man who was chosen at first, 
For twenty years served us with zeal ; 

Self-taught, but in scriptural knowledge well versed. 
That knowledge he well could reveal. 

He, too, was plain as his Master was plain, 

Laboring, like Paul, with his hands. 
Himself and a growing household to maintain. 

Never shunning the gospel's demands. 

Of this there are many can now testify. 

For hundreds remember him yet ; 
His record is here as well as on high-'- 

Henry Farmer we cannot forget. 

Some fruits of his labors amongst us are seen ; 

Of the three hundred names he enrolled. 
Some few of the gray-headed ones j^et remain. 

By the shepherd brought into the fold. 



SKMI-CKNTENNIAtv ADDRESS. 497 

And, good shepherd like, he nourished them here 

With the sincere milk of the word, 
And month after month, and year after year. 

Had little of earthly reward. 

No temple of worship had they to attend 
But for worship they failed not to meet. 

And from school-house and grove praye^^ and praise 
would ascend 
To the lofty and free mercy-seat. 

"When their worship, so simple and plain, we compare 

With that which is more formal now, 
And the blessings bestowed in God's answer to prayer, 

'Tis much in their favor, I trow. 

Ah, yes ! we remember — we old ones, I mean — 

The gracious revivals we had ; 
The many conversions of friends we have seen, 

By which many a heart was made glad ; 

The frequent ingatherings, with no long betweens. 

When brotherly love did abound. 
Could these spacious walls now witness such scenes 

As were witnessed at James's camp-ground ? 

O for a revival like one of those days, 

When the school -house or grove would resound 

With sobs of contrition or anthems of praise 
For the love of a Savior just found! 

Past and gone are those days and gone the years are, 

Borne away by Time's rolling wave ; 
And loved ones are scattered, we cannot tell where. 

But most of them low in the grave. 



_33_ 



498 RURAL RHYMES AND OtDEN TIMES. 

We oftentimes think of the days we have spent 
With those pious and God-fearing men ; 

We think of the loved ones with whom we oft went 
To join in their services then. 

They are gone, they are gone, those loved ones are gone, 
We will won-hip with them here no more, 

But we trust there is coming a day's brighter dawn. 
When we'll join them on some fairer shore. 

Will we see them and know them, life's trials all o'er, 
When we've passed the river's cold chill ? 

Will we meet them again to part never more? 
We know not, but hope says we will. 

Thank God for that hope. Brother Bailey, thank God ? 

Though the loved ones have long ago gone, 
When we too have slept, like them, 'neath the sod. 

We will wake to a brighter daj'-'s dawn. 

Let us thank Him, my brother, He has brought us to see 

The state of the church as it is ; 
He has brought us again, in this year jubilee. 

To worship with those that are His. 

And now to the church at Lone Jack let me say, 
As you look at these gray-headed men, 

Who long have been toiling in life's rugged way 
And years ago passed their three-score and ten, 

In your mind ask the question : When fifty more years 
Have passed, and these gray-headed men 

Have gone to be with their worthy cofnpeers, 
What will the state of the church be then ? 



SEMI-CENTENNIAL ADDRESS. 499 

Is there one, even one, who now occupies 

A seat or a membership here. 
Who expects to be here when time as it flies 

Shall bring to the church its centennial year? 

It may be there is, perhaps there are more; 

If so, I would fain enjoin upon you, 
In speaking of things you have witnessed before, 

Remember the scenes you are now passing through. 

At that day, though you be fast failing like me, 

And trembling and tottering with age. 
Fail not to read them, if needful it be, 

Some lessons from memory's page. 

Speak then of the changes the church has passed through , 

Its changes for better or worse, 
Its more earnest devotion or worship more true, 

Or, if it be so, proclaim the reverse. 

Should the next fifty years bring changes as great 

As the fift}^ passed by us have done, 
How difierent indeed will then be its state 

From the L,one Jack original one ! 

When we call to the mind its beginning, so small, 
And the change it has witnessed since then, 

We know not the changes that yet may befall 
The work of those few pious men. 

Its growth has been great : from fourteen it has grown 

To ten times that number, or more ; 
While four sister churches have out of it gone, 

The same gracious L,ord to adore. 



500 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

Shall we congratulate ourselves on this growth, 

The prosperity which we enjoy, 
The improvements and changes we are making in both 

The ways and the means we employ ? 

Shall we boast iiow of things our fathers had not. 

Some blessings they never enjoyed, 
Appliances using of which they ne'er thought. 

And means which they never employed ? 

Shall we trust to those many facilities now, 

The appliances oftentimes used 
To bring our friends and our neighbors to bow 

To a Savior they long have refused? 

We have many more temples of worship to-day. 

And some of them gaudy with show, 
But in proportion to this does the Master display 

His grace as in years long ago ? 

We sometimes think not ; we fear so, at least, 

When we to our memory recall 
That showers refreshing have not been increased. 

But less copiously now seem to fall. 

Will the I/Ord deign to smile on these efforts of ours 

If our trust we thereupon place 
And look for the Spirit's all-comforting powers. 

If we put not our trust in His grace ? 

Will He who in sacrifice takes no delight _ 

For sacrifice send the reward 
Which is promised to only the humble, contrite. 

Who obey and trust in the lyord ? 



SEMI-CKNTENNIAL ADDRESS. 501 

Will oitr silver and gold, though a hundred times more 

Than our fathers saw fit to employ, 
Unless 'tis bestowed on the I^ord's needy poor, 

Bring us more of true Christian joy? 

Little more, my brethren, have I now to say ; 

And as you here look upon me, 
You look upon one who must soon pass away, 

The last leaf that remains on the tree. 

Longer I've lived in the church at Lone Jack, 

And its worship have longer enjoyed, 
Than anyone else ; and when I look back, 

I regret not the time thus employed. 

Whether vain or successful my labors have been, 

Soon, soon thej^ will come to an end; 
But worthier ones, I trust, will come in, 

More ably the cause to defend. 

Will I be remembered when I am at rest. 

Remembered as those worthies are 
Who planted this vine in the then far-off West? 

I know not, nor need I much care. 

I may be forgotten when, like the last leaf, 

I have fallen and moldered away, 
And remembrance of all I have done be so brief 

That naught will remain at that day. 

Though the record of all of my labors be lost, 

And no trace upon earth may remain, 
If there is a record up yonder engrossed, 

I will meet all my loved ones again. 



502 RURAL RHYMES AND OI.DEN TIMES. 

A LAYMAN'S ADDRESS. 



Address intended to be made to the General Association of Baptists at 
Lexington, October, 1892. 

My brethren in Christ, all younger in years 

And much abler the truth to defend, 
A word from one of the old pioneers 

Whose pilgrimage here must soon end. 

'Tis the last time, I feel, that I ever shall meet 

My brethren in meetings like this ; 
I may nevermore hear them the story repeat, 

The story of pardon and peace. 

I would speak to 3^ou now of the days that are gone, 

The years that can never return. 
That perchance some lessons from them may be drawn 

That will profit if we should them learn. 

I would speak to you, too, of the old pioneers : 
You are reaping the harvest they sowed; 

Should we not be thankful in these latter years 
For the blessings upon us bestowed? 

Like fathers in Israel those pioneers were. 
Who established the church in their days, 

Who were bold the standard of truth to uprear, 
And the stone Ebenezer to raise. 

Though this region so lately a dark solitude, 

A wilderness darksome had been. 
They labored the scattered ones, simple and rude. 

And Missouri, for Jesus to win. 



A I^AYMAN'S ADDRKSS. 503 

No temple of worship like this had they then, 

No city like this had appeared, 
But in many a valley and many a glen 

The message of mercy was heard. 

And not all in vain was their toil and their prayers, 

Not in vain their labors of love, 
But crowned with success, a blessing was theirs. 

Vouchsafed unto them from above. 

Those heralds of Christ, I could mention their names- 
Forgotten they never should be — 

Who dared in the presence of scorn to proclaim 
That the conscience of man should be free. 

Remembered are they and will be for long. 
Those worthy ones, Peck, Welch, and Green ; 

They are living in history and should live in song, 
And their memory be kept ever green. 

Mid hardship and danger and savages wild 

They toiled in the wilderness here ; 
And Baptistic doctrines, by skeptics reviled, 

Were embraced by the plain pioneer. 

The church in the wilderness, founded by them, 

Of materials few and quite rude. 
Destined in the future to shine as a gem 

Or star of the first magnitude. 

They were followed by others, to us better known. 
With the sword of the gospel made sharp : 

Kdwards and Musick, lyongan and Brown, 
Williams and Fristoe and Tharp. 



504 RURAL RHYMES AND OI,DEN TIMES. 

There is many a Christian, gray-headed and worn, 
Who remembers those patriarchs true, 

With others like them who the same cross have borne 
And toiled with the same end in view. 

And when we look back and the present contrast 
With our church in its primitive days, 

And think of the struggles through which it has passed. 
Our voice should be lifted in praise. 

If we would the deeds of those men emulate. 
And stand up in the same noble cause, 

The kingdom of Heaven to perpetuate, 
Uphold and support all its laws 

The object for which this convention was formed 
Should be uppermost still in our thought ; 

With the fire of love for the perishing warmed, 
Persevering till home they are brought. 

I^et " Missouri for Jesus " our motto now be; 

lyct the gospel be spread far and wide ; 
lyCt the light shine in darkness till all come to see 

And believe on the One crucified. 

The association was formed for that purpose, you know, 

And for that it has labored for years, 
And great the encouragement onward to go, 

For success in the past greatly cheers. 

lyike the church in the wilderness, small at the first, 
It has grown and has greatly increased, 

Though the fathers who formed it and tenderly nursed 
Have gone and from labor have ceased. 



A LAYMAN S ADDRESS. 505 

Some fruits of their labors are seen here to-da^' 
In this large assemblage of women and men, 

I^ngaged in the same noble mission that the}^ 
Those fathers of ours, were busied in then. 

Could the spirits of Vardeman, Fristoe and Scott, 
Thomas and Woods, Wilhoyte and Duval 

Look on the scene of to-day, would they not 
To memor}^ that meeting at Boanefemme recall? 

That meeting of theirs remembered will be. 

Participants less than two-score. 
When it was resolved that gospel truth free 

Should be sent to the destitute poor. 

And for fiftj^-odd years this mission formed then 

Has labored to meet that resolve; 
And the methods, the how, the where, and the when, 

Is the question we are trying to solve. 

Shall we in the year eighteen ninety-two, 

And the years, that came after it, be 
Less faithful, less hopeful, less diligent too, 

Or less willing the captive to free ? 

Shall we in our strength do less than they did, 

Those fathers and mothers of yore ? 
Forbid it, kind Father, we pra}' Thee forbid, 

But let us press on and do more. 

Reljdng for help, as our fathers relied, 

On the power that comes from above. 
We'll trust in His grace, on His power confide, 

And doubt not His unchanging love. 



506 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

THE STORY OF THE FAMH^Y OAK. 



This gigantic oak-tree grew and is still glowing in Union County, Ten- 
nessee, on the farm that was op-^ned and occupied, about the year iSiS, by 
Arthur Nasli, a young man who had lately married a daughter of Henry 
Sharp, one of the first settlers of that State, settling first, with his father, 
brother, and a few neighbors, at a place in Anderson County called Sharp's 
Fort or Station. The farm and the oak mentioned in the poem are about 
one mile from the author's birth-place, which he visited in 1871. 

The spring or fovmtain mentioned has been brought in pipes under- 
ground from the rising ground, and pours forth a strong and constant 
stream from a hollow post standing in the shade of the tree. The poem was 
written at the suggestion of a member of the family. 

I sat beneath the branches of a lofty, spreading oak, 
And the rustling of its foliage in fancy's language spoke : 

"You ask, inquiring stranger, how long a time it's been. 
The number of the summers and the winters I have seen, 
Since from a sprouting acorn I came from out the sod 
By the force of ruling nature and the laws of nature's God. 
You ask me for the story of the long and circling years, 
Before I saw the coming of the early pioneers; 
Ere the white man's foot had trodden the soil of Tennessee, 
And the oak was only haunted by the roaming Cherokee. 
You ask me for the history of the years that followed on, 
The history of the yeomen and the women that are gone. 
I could tell you, friendly mortal, a story strange and true, 
The doings and occurrences for years and ages through. 
I could tell you now the story, how the pioneers first came 
And built a fort or station, Sharp's Station 'twas by name; 
The Clinch was then the boundary 'tween the Indians and 

the whites. 
And the Station was above where the Powell stream unites. 
I could tell you of the hardships and dangers they endured, 
For 'twas a savage wilderness, you maj^be well assured; 
I could tell you of the terror and the dread alarm of war 
Those pioneers encountered, and what it all was for. 



THE STORY OF THE FAMII^Y OAK. 507 

x\nd I could tell you also the deeds of Indiau braves, 
Their bloody cruelties and their scalpiug Peter Graves; 
Aud how at length they yielded and left their hunting- 
ground, 
And farther to the west now the Cherokees are found. 
But you perhaps will tell me you've heard it long ago, 
That the oak and all its history is what you want to know. 
Of the oak and its surroundings you ask me now to tell, 
And how it was, and who it was that first came here to 

dwell ; 
The history of the homestead that stands within its shade. 
That plain old-fashioned homestead, and how that home 

was made ; 
The history of the family, for such there must have been, 
Who had a pleasant domicile the valley here within. 
I can tell 3^ou all about it, but the story will be long: 
In the deep and tangled wildwood I grew till I was strong; 
Southwestward was the I^ost Creek meandering through 

the vale; 
To the east, along the valley, was the narrow Indian trail. 
The beasts and painted savages held undisputed sway, 
As the infant years of this old oak in silence passed away; 
And oftentimes the warrior has rested 'neath my shade, 
And often by the streamlet his camping-ground was made. 
But the Indian left the country, and the white man 

hunter came, 
And up and down the valle3^ pursued the timid game ; 
The Indian war was over, and yeomen good and stout 
Came here from different quarters and settled round about: 
The Sharps, the Kecks and Graveses, the Rices and 

the Ivoys. 
The forest fell before them and by their sturdy boys, 
And many an oak as towering as I have ever been 
Gave place to fields and orchards and were no longer 

seen ; 
But the forest round about me was undisturbed for years, 
Save by the dogs and gunning of the early pioneers. 



508 RURAI, RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

At length there came a yeoman, a yeoman good and true, 
A young man lately married, who had his equals few ; 
His wife was of the daughters of him who years before 
Had settled at the Station life's hardships to endure. 
With axe in hand he came here, his wife was his compeer, 
And yonder site selected as a home for him and her. 
He built his humble cabin where the dwelling now you see, 
'Mongst chinquepins and hazel, scarce twenty yards 

from me ; 
He cleaned away the forest and a garden-spot prepared ; 
My comrades fell around me, but I was kindly spared — 
Not spared entire, for truly he took away my head. 
But I survived the topping and my branches wider spread; 
And here I stand as sentry, though the stormy winds 

may blow, 
The only tree surviving of a hundred years ago. 
I saw the farm expanding by the farmer's daily toil. 
The golden grain producing from the rich and virgin soil ; 
The flocks and herds increasing, that ranged upon the 

hill; 
I saw the orchard rising — I see that orchard still. 
I saw the farmer's toilings, I watched him year by year, 
While smaller hands were coming to aid his labors here; 
I watched the vStately matron, who bore the ancient name 
Of her who was the mother of all who after came; 
And I watched the sons and daughters of Arthur and 

of Eve — 
The sons could till and garner, the daughters spin and 

weave ; 
And 'neath my boughs so shady those children often 

played, 
As the father and the mother were resting in the shade. 

" Within that humble cabin, and in the first decade. 
Three brothers and two sisters their first appearance 

made; 
And later, in the dwelling that is standing there to-day. 
Four brothers and two sisters, as promising as they. 



THE STORY OF THE EAMII.Y OAK. 509 

Came here to bless tlieir parents and be by parents 

blessed, 
Whose energies and virtues upon them were impressed. 
Ah! well do I remember those little girls and boys — 
I have seen them in their sorrows, I have seen them in 

their joys ; 
From infancy to manhood beneath my watch they grew, 
Their intellects expanding as they passed each trial 

through. 
And well do I remember when Rob, the eldest one. 
By Death from them was taken ere his eighteenth year 

was run ; 
In life's bright, sunny morning the sky was overcast, 
Death opened wide his portals and Robert through them 

passed. 
And here, beneath the branches of the large and spread- 
ing oak, 
A touching funeral sermon the honored parson spoke. 
While bitter tears of sorrow were falling fast and free, 
Where Robert played in childhood with acorns from the 

tree. 

"Another bit of history I must not overlook. 
About these crystal waters, this little babbling brook: 
It has not been so always, the spring at first was found 
Up on the hillside yonder, and brought here underground. 
About one-third a century has come and passed away. 
But the cold and crystal waters continue yet to play. 
Still watering the rootlets of the old and giant tree. 
And everything refreshing in the whole vicinity. 
And as I grew and flourished, the farmer flourished too ; 
The branches of his family more strong and stately grew. 
But the time was speeding onward, as the waters onward 

sped ; 
This oak grew strong and lofty, and its branches wider 

spread, 



5IO RURAL RHYMES AND OLDliN TIMES- 

But wider spread the branches of the family of him 
Who founded this old homestead beside the running 

stream : 
Some of the daughters married, to grace another home — 
Some of the sons were tempted in distant lands to roam. 
But prosperity attended the farmer good and true; 
He added to his acres, and wider still they grew. 
The sire was much respected, the sons were models then, 
The daughters too were worthy the esteem of worthy 

men. 
No storm had ever broken the sturdy family oak; 
No adverse winds of fortune had on the family broke; 
But a darksome cloud was rising, it broke in sixty-07ie, 
And cherished ties were broken and parted one by one. 
The sons that loved this homestead, that loved the shel- 
tering tree, 
Loved dearer still the Union and the cause of liberty; 
And when secession threatened the Union to dissolve 
And break it into fragments, they made the firm resolve : 
To father and to mother and to home to bid adieu. 
Since liberty was threatened and life was threatened too. 
The youngest first decided to leave the cherished home ; 
He crossed the mountain over and a soldier he become, 
And gallantly with Sherman he marched unto the sea, 
And, when the war was over, returned to Tennessee. 
An independant farmer with an independant brow. 
He tills paternal acres — 3^ou see him yonder now. 
The civil war is over and the bugle calls no more 
From needful rest and slumber on a distant hostile shore, 

" 'Tis monotonous reading my story, 

And tiresome 'tis to rehearse — 
But a change of the breeze in my foliage 

Will make a slight change in the Verse. 
A short time elapsed and three others. 

As true and as noble as he. 
In the gathering shades of the evening 

Bade adieu to their home and to me. 



THE STORY OF THE) FAMII^Y OAK. 511 

From the oak and their home in the valley 

Their faces all westward were set; 
They were driven away by secession 

And have not returned to me yet. 
Yes, two of these three noble brothers, 

Whose hearts for the old home did yearn, 
In Ohio and fair Illinois 

Now sleep, and will never return. 
And where, do you ask, is the other. 

The youngest and fairest of three, 
Who bade us adieu on that evening, 

A hunted and tired refugee? 
On the fair wall of Zion he's standing. 

Proclaiming the gospel of truth; 
But often, I trow, he is dreaming 

Of the oak and the home of his youth. 

"The years and the seasons revolving 

Still came and still went as before, 
Till fifty were gone and were numbered 

With those that return nevermore. 
The War of Rebellion was over. 

The country again in repose ; 
That father and mother, still living, 

Saw the half of a century close. 
Since they, in their life's glowing morning, 

Erected a domicile here ; 
Their sons and their daughters were scattered. 

And had been for many a year. 
'Twas then in the month of September, • 

In the year of our I^ord sixty-nine ; 
A wedding, a grand golden vv'edding. 

Occurred 'neath these branches of mine. 
The gray-headed father and mother. 

The old pioneers and the kin, 
Were ranged on each side of the couple. 

Whose neighbors so long they had been. 



512 RURAI, RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

'Neath these high and wide-spreading branches 

A beautiful table was spread, 
And the guests, who were there by hundreds, 

Remember the things that were said. 
Two sons and two daughters were present, 

Two sons and two daughters were dead. 
And four in the West were sojourning. 

And letters from two were then read. 
Those letters I think of quite often. 

So touching and tender were they. 
But gone is now one of the writers. 

And the other is still far away; 
But his home he has never forgotten, 

He has never forgotten the oak, 
And once, on the far-off prairie. 

This language poetic he spoke: 

" ' I love my mountain home, 

I love its wild retreat, 
I love the fragrant flowers that bloom 

Around that cottage neat; 
I love my youthful friends. 

With whom I used to roam 
Amid the hills and through the glens 

Around my cottage home ; 
I love the limpid stream 

That from the hills did flow. 
Meandering the grove that stood 

Beside that cottage low ; 
. I love the mountain winds, 

Deep murmuring, low and lone. 
Than linger 'mong those mountain heights 

Above my cottage home; 
But most of all I love 

Those far from whom I roam, 
Those helpless ones who linger yet 

Within that cottage home. 



THE STORY OF THK FAMII.Y OAK. 513 

May angels bright and fair 

From heavenly regions come, 
And with their blessings rich and rare 
Brood o'er that cottage home.' 
"You will say that I am digressing — 

I own it, and now I'll return. 
And tell of that father and mother, 

If you would their history learn : 
In less than two years from that wedding — 

That grand golden wedding, I mean — 
The wife from the husband was taken. 

And a covering of earth was between ; 
The bod3^ of that faithful mother 

By weeping survivors was laid 
In its resting-place near to the homestead 

Which she and her husband had made ; 
Though all of her then that was mortal 

To the dark, lonely grave was consigned, 
Her spirit returned to the Giver, 

And there to the loved ones was joined. 
But what of that husband and father? 

He survived her but only two years; 
Away from this home in the valley, 

He quitted this dark vale of tears ; 
Away from the oak and the homestead. 

The home of his manhood and pride. 
At the home of a son in a city 

On the banks of Missouri, he died; 
Then back to his home and his kindred ' 

His body by friends was conveyed, 
And, in presence of many a mourner, 

By the side of his wife he was laid. 
So there, side by side, they are sleeping; 

They heed not the storms that may come. 
They hear not the voice of weeping. 

They have entered a happier home. 



514 RURAI. RHYMES AND OI,DEN TIMES. 

"Ten years have since come and departed; 

The old oak is still holding its place, 
The old-fashioned house is yet standing, 

The streamlet is flowing apace. 
Of the children, the sons and the daughters, 

The twelve who were born 'neath the tree, 
Four sons and a daughter survive them, 

But two of them only I see; 
. One son by the far-off Pacific 

Can list to the roar of its tides; 
And hard by the turbid Missouri 

The daughter, fair Esther, abides; 
And he whom his comrades remember 

As one of the bravest of boys 
The gospel of peace is proclaiming 

On the prairies of fair Illinois ; 
The youngest is here, as I told you, 

And so is the oldest save one — 
He is holding the time-battered castle 

Where his parents life's journey begun. 
He, amongst all of the others, 

From a vantage-ground gained in the strife, 
Encouraged and aided his brothers 

To prepare for the journey of life. 
That old man, so portly and pleasant, 

Who comes from the orchard out there, 
Is lord of the manor at present, 

With a wife and with three children fair. 
He once held a seat in the Senate, 

And distinction he then and there won — 
He was one of the few 'gainst secession 

In the year eighteen sixtj^-one; 
But a pleasanter time in the orchard, 

And a pleasanter seat 'neath the -oak, 
Than when in the Senate that session 

In defense of the Union he spoke, 



THE STORY OF THE FAMILY OAK. 515 

He sits 'neath my branches so shady, 

Where the cool and the clear waters flow, 
And back go his thoughts retrospective, 

To the days of the long time ago ; 
With gratitude swelling his bosom 

He sings, and I listen the while, 
And, listening, I gather his musings, 

Fond musings, much after this style : 

" ' I love to sit beneath this tree, 

This ancient giant oak, 
And think of those who cared for me 

When first to life I woke. 
My father spared this giant oak 

When he the forest felled; 
And many a storm has o'er it broke 

Since it I first beheld. 
Beneath its branches I have played, 

More than a hundred times, 
And its ascent have sometimes made, 

As nimble squirrel climbs; 
I venerate this ancient oak, 

Our sacred family tree, 
Though many a cruel hatchet-stroke 

It has received from me ; 
And as I sit beneath it here. 

Beneath its branches tall. 
The memory of my loved ones dear, 

The scenery will recall. 
My mother's garden still I see — 

How oft I've seen her there! 
'Twas her retreat — fit spot to be 

The place of secret prayer. 
That garden- spot I must revere, 

I never can forget; 
Some of the trees she planted there 

In life are living yet. 



1 



5 1 6* RURAL RHYMES AND OLDEN TIMES. 

And then the fount, the gushing fount 

Of waters flowing on ; 
Their low, sweet murmurs oft recount 

The names of brothers gone — 
The names of those who helped me bring 

Those waters from the hill, 
And made a channel from the spring 

The fountain here to fill. 
And when across the farm I look. 

Reflection tells me now 
My farming lessons there I took — 

'Twas there I learned to plow; 
And here, across this very farm, 

With one I still revere, 
I oft have sauntered arm in arm 

And came and rested here. 
But that fair floweret withered lies. 

The grave is now her bed; 
Her childhood's home still greets my eyes- 

The place where we were wed. 
But He w^ho took that fragrant flower 

And planted it in heaven 
Has sent another to my bower, 

Another helpmate given; 
Then let me bow to Him whose rod 

Oft chastens for our good, 
And murmur not — our father's God 

A friend has always stood. 
That God who planted here the oak 

And held it up in storms 
Is one whose word He never broke. 

His promise He performs. 
Since we are of more value far. 

Than oaks or lilies fair, 
We'll live when sun, and moon, and star, 

And earth no longer are.' 



THE STORY OF THE FAMII.Y OAK. 517 

"Sometimes, as lie stands by the fountain, 
The gourd to the bottom he'll drain. 

And think of the old oaken bucket, 
And speak in a similar strain : 

" 'How often of late, in the shade as I'm sitting, 

My mind wanders back o'er the scenes of the past, 
And while in this mood I am often forgetting 

That I'm now growing old and my best days are past! 
Sometimes, as I wander alone in the wildwood 

I strive to remember, and find it is hard 
To number the years since I played in my childhood 

Beneath the old oak-tree that stands in the yard. 
The lofty old oak-tree, the wide-spreading oak-tree. 

The giant old oak-tree that stands in the yard. 

'"Since then I have passed many winters and summers — 

I pause not to count them, but fifty at least; 
They come and they go, and it seems that these comers 

Come faster and faster as age is increased. 
How slowly they passed in my life's early stages ! 

As though there was something their course to retard ; 
A month seemed a year, and the years were like ages. 

As we played 'neath the oak-tree that stands in the yard. 
The gigantic oak-tree, the wide-branching oak-tree. 

The lofty old oak-tree that stands in the yard. 

"'How often I think of my early surrounding! 

When, blessed with parental affection and love. 
With brothers and sisters and friendship abounding, 

And teachers to point us to mansions above, 
A home and a farm on which we could labor, 

A school-house from which no child was debarred, 
At peace with ourselves, our God, and our neighbor, 

We sat 'neath the oak-tree that stands in the yard, 
The old gnarly oak-tree, the long-living oak-tree, 

The giant old oak-tree that stands in the yard. 



5l8 RURAL RHYMES AND OLDKN TIMES. 

" 'And oft, when away from my home in the valley, 

When care and despondency heavily pressed, 
My thoughts would comeback and my courage would rally 

When wandering from home in the far-distant West, 
And oft would be cheered by the fond recollection 

Of things that I held in the highest regard : 
My father and mother and kindred connection, 

Still lingering around the old tree in the yard, 
The strong, sturdy oak-tree, the long-living oak- tree. 

The century-old oak-tree that stands in the yard. 

'"And now 'neath its shadow I'm often found sitting. 

At morning and eve and the hour of noon; 
I muse on the past, and am often forgetting 

Life's winter is coming, 'tis no longer June. 
Youth's energy, fire, and strength are abating. 

And soon I must leave the dear scenes I regard; 
The boatman will come for whom I am waiting, 

As I sit here beneath the old tree in the yard, 
The shade-giving oak-tree, the wind-breaking oak-tree, 

The dear family oak-tree that stands in the yard.' " 




TO EMMA. 519 



TO EMMA. 



Written iu a Granddaughter's Album. 

On this, the anniversary 

Of your grandfather's birth, 
Dear Kmma, he to you would say: 

Trust not to things of earth. 

The things of earth are passing fair, 

But fleeting are they all; 
And pleasure's sweets, though rich and rare, 

Upon the senses pall. 

Though wealth and fame maj^ you allure, 

And promise happy days, 
Trust not the promise, it is sure 

To fail in many ways. 

Trust not to youth or beauty's charm. 

For that's a broken reed; 
And earthly friends, to keep from harm. 

Will fail in time of need. 

In 3^outh, like you, upon my brow 

The hue of health was given; 
But rose of youth is vanished now, 

And I am seventy-seven. 

So live that at a future year. 

When youth and strength shall fail. 

Remembrance of the past may cheer 
While passing the dark vale. 






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